Transformers: Starscream Ascendant
by Gandalf the Beige
Summary: Movie-verse: With Megatron in the briny abyss and the Allspark splintered and cold, Starscream forges a plan for a new Pax Cybertronia to emerge. But why do his schemes involve a human baby? And why is Miles looking so guilty all of a sudden?
1. Prologue

Transformers: Starcream Ascendant

Disclaimer: I don not own any part of this franchise; not the robots, not the humans, not the towns, the locations nor the government weasels. All I own is a plot... inspired a little by (my reading of) An Cailan Rua's _Tricolora_ series, yes, but _only_ a little and mostly from the second installment. The points drawn on are the presence of a kid and a romantic wossname for Miles (with a bit of Starscream in the mix) but otherwise it's pretty much my own ideas.

Summary: Barricade: bad cop, blunt instrument or babysitter? In Starscream's latest and 'screwiest' scheme, our favourite Saleen Mustang ends up playing all three.

* * *

**June 18th, 9:30 PM**

**Evansville, Indiana**

**1 year and 2 weeks after the Mission City Incident**

The sun had already set when the black and white Saleen police cruiser turned onto the side-street in one particular subdivision, a place of well-maintained bungalows, freshly cut lawns and, luckily for the occupant of the car, no inconvenient front yard fences. Driving past the row of houses, the car seemed to slow down slightly in front of each door, as if looking for the right address.

In front of one particular house near the end of the block the vehicle stopped, and anyone watching the scene would have witnessed a young woman in a jean-jacket and a skirt exiting the passenger-side door and walking up to and knocking on the front door.

The door opened to reveal aCaucasian male in his mid-30s, slim, brown hair, but otherwise non-descript. "Yes, may I help you?" He asked the woman... girl, really, who seemed to have recently been in some distress.

"I'll make this short and sweet..." She began, almost angrily. "My name is Edith McPherson., I'm 18 years old, I live in Louisville..." At that moment, a woman appeared behind then man, cradling an infant. "And I would like to have my son back." Edith finished, folding her arms in defiance of whatever might be thrown her way. Something had very obviously pushed this girl into action, but what?

"Are you saying that... you're Alvin's birth-mother?" Asked the woman, apparently Mrs. Schlotter, and Edith noted, with some small glimmer of triumph, that they had used the name she had given her son.

"Yes I am, and considering what happened to the last kid in your care, I think that Alvin would be safer with me." Edith was not normally a girl to be so up-front, but what information she had received had so shocked her that she felt that no time could be wasted on niceties.

Ted Schotter was not a stupid man, but when a reference was made to the existence of another child in his care, he was genuinely dumbfounded. "I'm sorry, but there must be some mistake: we've never had another child."

This time, the answer was calm, as if this had been an expected obstacle. "I was told that you'd say something like that. But I think that in this case I'll have to insist that Alvin come with me."

Ted was now beginning to worry. "Martha, I think you'd better get Alvin to bed while I..." It was then that the engine of the cruiser started up, becoming louder and, to a point, sounding much _angrier_ than the Schlotters thought that any police car had the right to be. To their shock, the car began to turn on to the lawn, driving right up to the door, with each rev of the engine sounding like pure agression in vehicular form. As Edith was forced aside, Mr. Schlotter finally identified the second unusual thing about this car.

No one was driving it.

Suddenly, the quiet, middle-class existence of this family exploded in a flurry of clashing metal plates and the dark, rising form of what had once been a simple car. When questioned later, the last thing that Theodore Schlotter could recall was looking up into a set of glowing red eyes.

* * *

If anyone has any criticisms or suggestions, I'd be happy to receive them


	2. The Next Day

Transformers: Starscream Ascendent

Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I believe that point is rather obvious.

Summary: The day after Tranquility High School's Graduation Prom, two former S7 Agents visit two separate young men, both acquainted with giant alien robots, who are now nursing the worst hangovers of their lives. So much so that they haven't been watching the news.

* * *

**1:30 PM, Thursday, June 19th**

**Tranquility, California**

**The day after the Prom**

Upon awakening, the second thought Samuel James Witwicky came up with was 'I'm never drinking ever again'. The first thought was not nearly as coherent, being merely an incomplete train of thought that registered the extreme sensory stress he was experiencing. It was, to quote: "Oooh... my head".

Alright, maybe having that second glass of wine was a bad idea... and the third... as well as those jello shots... and drinking that vodka was definately not a good plan. Unfortunatley, he couldn't remember what happened after Miles fainted, so that left about a quarter of the Graduation Party unaccounted for.

Well, the first things he ought to do would be: A) Take a leak B) Take a shower and C) Go downstairs in a quest for nourishment.

Afer accomplishing the first two, Sam Witwicky, dressed in an old shirt and his boxers, walked unsteadily down the stairs to the main floor of the Witwicky home. What he needed was coffee... and food, that was the ticket. A nice hot breakfast, a cup of black coffee and maybe a B-Vitamin or two; then maybe he could work out what the hell happened last night.

Judy Witwicky had long ago awoken, and had anticipated that her son would wake up in such a state. Her family, while not being particularly prone to alcoholism, had seen it's share of hangovers and the corresponding development of folk-cures. As Sam entered the kitchen, his mother had already been working on food for him: hot banana oatmeal with honey... and a glass of tomato juice. "Alright... I know what you're thinking: tomato juice with porridge? Just trust me, it'll make you feel alot better." His mother went back to the cutting-board on the counter, and proceeded to chop what appeared to be root vegetables.

Sam hesitated for a second before taking an experimental sip of the juice. It passed the first test: he didn't go blind. It was then that he decided to ask the burning question. "Mom... what, exactly, happened last night at the hotel?" He was wondering how Bumblebee had been able to get him home. A giant robot surely couldn't fit in an elevator.

"Well, for one thing your father and I had to come get you three. First we had to get you, Miles and Mikaela down to the lobby, which wasn't easy. Then your father had to sit in Bee's drivers' seat while I drove the Greeny home, and it's not that I don't think your father did a good job restoring that thing, but I honestly think it hates me! Are you sure it isn't one of those... December-wazzits?" Even after hearing the whole story, being cleared by the Feds and signing enough NDA's to ensure complete secrecy, neither Ronald nor Judy Witwicky could properly pronounce the name of a major side in the Cybertronian Civil War, a war that had raged on past the death of the planet itself and only recently stopped when their leader's spark had been overloaded.

"It's _Decepticons, _and no, I don't think so. It it was, I think it would have tried to do something other than just guzzle premium." Shoveling oatmeal into his mouth to salve this hunger, he heard the front doorbell ring. The first clue that suggested that it wasn't just some neighbor or Mormon missionary was the fact that Mojo, the family Chihuahua, suddenly got up from the sofa and ran to the door, where he began growling.

Abandoning her vegetables, Judy Witwicky went to the front door and, mindful of Mojo's barking, used the peephole to see who it was. When she saw who it was , the only two words she could come up with were "Oh, Hell!" After a badge was flashed, Judy felt no choice but to open the door... to reveal Reggie Simmons, late of Sector-7, wearing dark sunglasses and holding up the badge.

"Reginald Simmons, FBI. I'm here to make inquiries about your son's... _unique_ aquaintances." It was then that he felt something warm and wet splash against his left trouser leg. He looked down and saw that Mojo had lifted his leg and "lubricated" him. Turning back to Mrs. Witwicky, he smiled in a somewhat strained manner. "Your rodent just watered my leg."

"Well, it's not like you didn't deserve it." Judy Witwicky kneeled down to take her dog in her arms and then stood up again. "What do you want? Perhaps an investigation of my potted plants? Or are you just here to torture my son's car?" The first impression she had had of Agent Simmons was of a rude, smarmy, arrogant government asshole... which was pretty much the opinion of everyone who knew him on a professional level. His actions had not bettered this image at all.

It was at this moment that Sam walked into Simmon's view, having heard the agent's voice. Simmons turned up the smarm again. "There's our man!" Groaning, Sam could only ask what he wanted at this time in the morning. Simmons was blunt. "First, it's a quarter past 2; and second, by signing the various agreements between yourself and the United States Government, you are obligated to provide, at request, any information you have regarding Non-biological Extraterrestrials. As such, I need to ask a few questions regarding your history with these things. Plus, we need you to get straight answers out of 'His-Primeness'."

"Have any of them... done anything?" Asked Sam warily, remembering that Ratchet and (especially) Ironhide had experienced difficulty dealing with human traffic without being able to resort to walking, firepower or an EM pulse.

"Not as of yet." Answered Simmons, "But I believe that both you and your acquaintances have a history with a certain blunt instrument by the name of... N.B. E. 6?"

Trying to match up the agent's naming system up with known Cybertronians and their order of identification by the government, Sam finally came up with something. "The cop car?"

Simmons nudged his shades down so that his eyes were visible before replying, matter-of-factly, "The cop car."

**Meanwhile, the Lancaster Residence**

Miles Lancaster had also awoken that day. However, due to his parents being at an Engineering conference in Vegas, he had passed out on the kitchen floor in his tuxedo shirt and awoken this morning in a puddle of his own bodily fluids. After four hours of busy activity which included cleansing himself, taking the suit to the dry-cleaners, and mopping the entire kitchen with pine-scented disinfectant, the only material he had ingested so far today was two B-Vitamin capsules, several glasses of orange juice and the spicy, greasy goodness that was a breakfast burrito.

As such, he hadn't been paying attention to the small details around him.

The doorbell rang, drawing a fully-coherent and fully-dressed Miles to the front door, which he opened to find a dark-suited man in sunglasses and possessing a mustache. "Tom Banachek: I'm with the CIA. May I come in?"

Miles, shaggy though he may have appeared, was quite savvy in certain areas concerning government paranoia. "Why? Okay, look, I've never smoked anything in my life, especially not the whacky-tabaccy, and I don't care what other people think of me, I'd never do that sort of thing. And I already signed all the forms after finding out about the giant robots..."

"Mr. Lancaster..." Banachek said, interrupting Mile's rambling. "I do not particularly care about whatever drug habits you may or may not have. What I need is information concerning someone; a female exchange student from Kentucky that you might have had contact with last year." He saw Miles' eyes widen in recognition.

_Bingo_

"Have you watched the news today, Mr. Lancaster?" Tom's hand motioned for him to be invited in, and Miles, shaking his head in the negative, bid him enter just as silently. Making their way to the Living-room entertainment centre, Miles snatched up the remote and asked what channel.

"All of them." Was the agent's reply.

Finally reaching the default cable news feed on the TV, a blonde, female news reader was just going into a new segment.

"_Getting back to our top story, Indiana police are still seeking answers in the kidnapping of four-month old Alvin Schlotter. It happened last night at the suburban Evansville home when, in what had been described as 'the most violent kidnapping in recent memory' , the boy's adoptive parents were assaulted by his birth-mother, 18-year old Edith McPherson of Louisville Kentucky. The public is being urged to volunteer information, but not to interfere, as the suspect is reported to armed and dangerous...." _

Banachek clicked the off-button on the unused remote, and noticed Miles was still sitting on the sofa, staring at the now blank television. Sitting down on an adjacent chair, he lowered his face to the level of the young man's. "We need whatever information you may possess about any violent tendencies she may have, but more importantly, _she_ needs us to have that information so that we don't rush to any conclusions."

Now Miles was just shaking his head, muttering. "I don't understand." He said weakly, "She isn't like that! She wouldn't hurt a fly!" To say that he was looking like a lost puppy was likely a bit of an understatement.

Banachek sighed. "Mr. Lancaster, even though she was present at the scene, we find it highly unlikely that Ms. McPherson did any appreciable damage."

"And why do you think that?" asked Miles.

"Because it is the opinion of the CIA that a girl of her age, stature and history could not possibly rip the front wall off of a bungalow, in one piece, and toss it ten feet."


	3. Children of One and a half Worlds

Transformers: Starscream Ascendant

Chapter 3

Disclaimer: At the risk of sounding repetitive, I don't own anything, especially anything owned by GM. Please don't sue me.

Author's note: After much deep and profound... brain-things-inside-my-head, and in the spirit of Festivus and the airing of grievances... I've come to realize that the impetus behind this story was as _payback_ for disappointments suffered in the second _Tricolora_ story. I wanted Miles to have a shot at a relationship that was messy and human and all those things that Perceptor was shying away from, I entertained the thought of (the OC) Dinah Mutts giving one last shot of... I don't know what (individuality, attraction, revenge?) by naming Miles as the father on her daughter's birth certificate pre-adoption even though the true father was African-American. I even thought, with no remaining relatives accept a mother who could care less about her, that Dinah could feature as a character in the future, or remain in contact with Miles and have some future romantic thing go on.

Alas... no such luck. And probably for the better considering the setting.

But I realize that a story cannot be built on disapointments or could-have-beens, that it must have a story and characters and emotion of its own. And all those mine will have, with plots and politics and love and friendships tested... and some other stuff, yet to be revealed.

Summary: One has spent the last year hiding; the other has spent the same time behind glass. One is a lost child and the other is a murderous spaz. One wants a home and the other just wants revenge. Will they find anything in common? Also, why _is_ Miles acting like this, anyway?

* * *

**June 19th, 2:25 PM**

**Tranquility, California **

It..._He_ was safe here.

Ever since he had come online, he had known little but mindless searching and hiding from the squishy, soft beings that called themselves "human". The first things he had seen were two... "females" that were berating something called a "jerk" for denting their personal conveyance. Although he felt personally slighted at this (why, he didn't know), he had attempted contact with them in the only way he really knew how... though encircling the cranium of the primary organism with his manipulators hadn't helped, and had only caused them to flee, leaving him alone. What was also apparent was that there were explosions happening all around them, explosions that could, if one was not careful, seriously damage or even destroy a being.

He had been forced to flee, to ignite the engine on his frame and speed off. But he had felt something before he left the "canyons" where he had been activated. It had been a... a _heat_, an almost rapturous, glowing aura that had implied anything and everything a new mind could possibly want: safety, sustenance, guidance, friendship... home.

A home... a place where he felt safe and comfortable.

That was something he didn't have. But he _wanted_ to have it.

From the time that his frame had exhausted it's fuel and he had been forced to separate his inner parts from it, he had been on a desperate search to find that feeling. He had inhabited and operated conveyance after conveyance, hoping that he would again sense it and be able to track it to it's source. He had tracked a pair of sources through the local cool season, but had lost them. And then, with the return of longer days, he had identified another whiff of that longed-for warmth and followed it to this town, to this very house. And at last to one personal conveyance, which had practically hummed with the feeling. He had clambered up inside it, preparing to nest, when he had found a strange oculus unlike anything he had encountered before. He had looked into its depths, curious to what it was.

And, in a flash of bright blue light, it had looked right back at him.

He had considered fleeing once more, but he's heard a sound. It was a squealing, trilling, slightly grainy sound, that nevertheless he had understood. "_Do not fear me. You are safe. You can hide in the other car until I can tell the others about you." _So he had hid inside the other car, an older, slightly more primitive version of every other frame he had "worn" and waited. One week ago in the organic's scale of time, the yellow "car" had communicated again, saying that the vehicle's companions had been informed of his existence and wanted to meet him. He had also introduced himself properly, labeling himself as "Bumblebee".

Names... yet another thing he did not have.

And so, here he was, preparing to meet these beings when suddenly an unfamiliar black vehicle had driven up with two organics, and one organic had disembarked and headed into the house. Peeking his optics out from under the bumper, he witnessed the human coming out of the house, now with yet another human following him. Bumblebee squealed out a short burst of his language, explaining that the humans were headed to conference with the other "Autobots", and that it was a good time to ferry the little one to meet them.

So, with speed and a precise sequence of movements mastered though many transfers, the little one detached himself from the underside of the green vehicle, scuttled a short distance on four spindly legs to Bumblebee while keeping low to the ground, and quickly secured himself to the larger being's undercarriage. As the strange vehicle drove away, Bumblebee followed, and could not help noticing that the fidgety movements of the little 'bot... well, _tickled_.

**Simmons' FBI SUV – Enroute to Los Angeles Air Force Base**

"So... what do you want to know?" Sam, for all he had been exposed to the inner workings of the government by being associated with "high-priority potential allies", never truly overcame the intimidation factor.

Since Optimus had made clear that him or his soldiers accepting the government's offer of United States Citizenship was not an option, the military had been treating them, more or less, as VIP's. The reason why they had refused was mostly symbolic: if they had accepted, it would have been a hard, cold recognition that Cybertron was well and truly _dead_. And that had not been a thought that any of the Autobots had relished. As long as there was a chance of the Allspark being restored, they preferred to think of themselves as a "government-in-exile" of sorts. But due to their "unique" status, it was often difficult to acquire pertinent information from them.

Thus, Sam was being brought in.

"First off, we need to know if there has been any indication of this thing cooperating with humans." Simmons was sitting in the front passenger seat of the modified Denali Envoy, looking back at Sam, seated in the left-side rear seat. This brought back very unpleasant memories for Sam.

"No, not that I can think of. From what I've heard, the opinion the Decepticons had of organic life was that we were practically.. ah, well... vermin." That sounded pretty correct, though they at least knew humans were intelligent, if his really bad memories of Barricade and especially Megatron were any indication. But knowing and acting on knowledge were two different things.

"Alright. And second..." Simmons opened a manila envelope and pulled out a large colour photograph. "Does this woman look familiar to you." He handed Sam the print, which appeared to be a standard class picture, in 8' by 10' format, of a young Caucasian woman with long, brown hair, a heart-shaped face, brown eyes and a straight nose. In other words, a plain, almost forgettable female face.

Sam looked at the picture, trying to place the face. What he came up with was a bit vague on the specifics of identity. "I... think she was an exchange student last year. Always seemed to wear tight fitting grey-knit gloves and long sleeves. Miles got the job of getting to know her, showing her around and using the experience to write an essay on trans-regional relations for extra credit in Social Studies." He looked up at the agent. "Why do you want to know?"

"Would that be one Miles Lancaster?" Asked Simmons, beginning to grin.

"Yeah... that's Miles. The same guy who found out about Bee after that foiled carjacking which left him in the back seat. The one you guys made sign all those papers. What about him?" Sam was beginning, though he did not totally understand the scope, to wonder how seriously Miles had actually taken the "Bro's before Ho's" motto.

"Nothing much, just wanted to make sure. Ah... It looks like we've arrived." They had stopped at the checkpoint that stood at the entrance to the base. After the driver, Simmons and Sam (who had been advised to bring his own hyper-security pass) showed their ID, they drove onto the base. The guard on duty had either been paid or drilled well enough to keep saluting as a seemingly empty late-model Camero drove past him and followed the SUV.

In a hanger on-base, the Autobot Ratchet looked over what he had to work with.

It wasn't much.

When the Cube had "gone off" inside of Megatron's chest, it had been a near-complete disintegration, seemingly "burning out" the Decepticons' inner workings. As such, a huge amount of energy had been released, but the Allspark had always been known as a source of infinite energy, even if every concept of energy scoffed at such a thing. The remaining shard should, theoretically, remain a great source of energy and regenerative, life-giving power. Going off of an obscure passage from the Book of Primus, Ratchet had even collected the splinters he had removed from the burnt palms of Samuel James Witwicky in a hope that they would provide some spark of the energy that had once flowed like water from the object.

Unfortunately, nothing had come. Not a spark, not a glow, not even a flicker of that famous energy had come forth. As he looked own at the assembled fragments, he wondered if the being that Bumblebee had found could offer more clues as to how to reactivate the cube, seeing as he was likely created by the Allspark from human technology.

And all the tests and delays and lack of progress had left his test subject inching incrementally closer to "omnicidally deranged".

"I am sure that we will have a solution soon." Ratchet turned toward a hanging Plexiglass box that contained the test subject. Captured by the United States government, the symbiote Frenzy focused his two remaining optics on the larger robot. Without a vocal processor (or most of his head) he could only communicate though the primitive method supplied to him by an ASL (American Sign Language) Manuel.

_//I do not care! Let me out so I may kill you all!//_

"What If I obtain another paddleball for you?"

_//I do not care! I... Ooh, paddleball! Ya, Ya, Ya!//_

Ratchet looked at the pile of used sundries besides Frenzy. It had been almost six months before the idea had struck him that one way to keep Frenzy from losing whatever operational sanity he had been built with was to find ways to focus his manic energy into pursuits that were, to borrow a phrase, "mostly harmless". Optimus had agreed, stating that they needed every Cybertronian life right now, and that, if peace was to come, it had to come from their side, in the practice of their ideals.

Ironhide had not been so impressed, and had pondered just destroying the little spazmatic in the interests of security. That idea had been vetoed and Ironhide had reacted by spending as little time in their makeshift base as possible, mostly content to inspect human weapons or serve as a vehicle to William Lennoxs' home renovation company. And since the market for such things had seriously declined with the poor housing market and a looming economic recession, that usually involved being parked on the Lennox property and sleeping.

And Bumblebee... was coming into the hanger right now, along with two SUV's. The vehicles stopped, the hanger door closed, and their occupants got out. Sam was more than a little surprised to see Miles present (especially considering his two-fisted drinking the night before). "Hey Miles, Can I ask you something?"

"Alright, but I don't think it can be anything private, what with the MIB's, the Doc and... the Big Boss Bot coming into the picture." Miles cocked his thumb towards the other end of the hanger, where Optimus had only just emerged from the secondary chambre, otherwise known as the Comm Centre. All the finest communications technology available to the United States Military, in production or experimental, had been installed in this hanger in an attempt to assist in the search of other surviving Autobots. It was slightly more productive than Ratchet's work with the Cube, as one Autobot had already responded and was headed for Earth, with a crash-time of anywhere from two days to a week from the present. However, by the standards of Inter-War Cybertron, this set-up was barely the equivalent of a muddy hole in the ground (and if one was a Decepticon, a vermin-infested hole at that).

"Agent Banachek, I assume your visit has something to do with the news coming out of Indiana this morning?" Optimus asked in a polite yet business-like tone he reserved for the only S7 agent who actually attempted to deal with them on an equal footing.

"Yes, Sir. And we have reason to believe that one of your species was an accomplice in the child's kidnapping." Banachek took off his glasses. "You are aware that two identified bogies were absent from the casualty roster following Mission City?"

"Barricade and Starscream, yes. We are also aware that one of your own aircraft was shot down in an attempt to hunt down Starscream. The pilot survived." This was Ratchet, having come forward to stand at the shoulder of his leader.

"Don't worry about him, he got a nice big fat check after that." Simmons took his glasses off and put them in his coat pocket. "Now, if you guys will excuse me, I want to ask surfer-boy a few questions." He turned to Miles, who was now looking slightly nervous under both Sam's and Simmons' scrutiny. "Mr. Lancaster: Do you or do you not know a girl by the name of..." he pulled out a notebook and looked something up. "Edith McPherson?"

"Yeah, I do." Miles usually took things in stride, so to see him this nervous was likely as rare as a calendar month with two full moons.

"And did you, or did you not, volunteer in your Junior year of High School to familiarize her with the town and it's local culture, in the interests of your Social Studies grade, thus spending extended periods of time with her?" Simmons was beginning to look smug , and nothing good ever happened when he looked smug.

"Yes..." Miles was most definitely looking quite nervous now.

"And Mr. Lancaster... did you, _or did you not_, engage in sexual relations with Ms. McPherson from late May to Mid-June, 2007?"

Sam Witwicky could never have guessed that he possessed such good reflexes.

Now he was holding back his best human friend from possibly strangling the agent, something he had sometimes fantasizd about doing himself. Simmons, in all this, just backed up, opened his coat and exposed his holstered pistol "Federal Agent, remember?" Miles seemed to settle down a little and Sam tempted fate by releasing him. He didn't make another attempt, even after Simmons commented that he'd obviously struck a nerve.

"Miles, what the hell is going on? First they ask me questions about whether a Decepticon would work with humans and now they're implying that you got jiggy with the exchange student. What ever happened to 'Bros before Hos'?" Sam was still very confused, but the pieces were starting to come together.

Miles, however, had already put the pieces together. "First of all, that was _your_ motto, not mine! Or do you forget that thing about 'taking my mind of the exchange student who's leaving in two weeks' by going to the lake to pick up different chicks? Second, even if it had been, that rule _died_ the minute you abandoned me to go after Little Miss Jail-Bird. So, rather than walking 6 miles, I decided to risk asking DeMarco for lift."

"And they didn't beat the shit out of you for fun?" Sam thought that his opinion of Trent DeMarco as a sub-par musclehead who delighted in tormenting the lower social stratum was relatively sound, though any answer that left Miles unharmed might upset this.

"Hey, you're not the only one that was surprised! But he actually let me hitch a ride in the back... well, the cargo compartment of his Hummer if I kept my head down. So he drops me off at the end of my block, I go home... and waiting at my front door is Edith, wanting to get in some studying done for the exams. So we studied... math, science, history, some English. My parents were working late so I asked her if she could stay a bit longer. We watched some movies, one thing led to another and we, uh... we _did it_."

Sam looked at his friend, shocked at this new information and shocked that his friend had never mentioned it. "Miles... please tell me that you used a condom."

Miles shook his head in the negative.

"Then tell me she was on... the pill or something."

Miles could only shrug to say "I don't know."

"Miles... do you have any idea, at all, of what the implications could be?" Sam asked his friend, who looked like he was digesting something extremely fibrous.

"I didn't until today. But the news said that she kidnapped some kid called Alvin, and they called her his "birth-mother", which means she gave birth to him and that he's her son and that I may, possibly... be the biological father." Miles, having considered the possibility for the last half hour, was flashing between all matter of mental states, from pure terror to mind-numbing worry for the 'girl who left him behind' to, in the very back of his mind, some venal form of pride at his own fecundity.

"Possibly _my ass_. Take a look at this." Simmons had dug a manila envelope out of a lockbox in one of the Envoys and was handing it to Miles.

"What is it?" Asked Sam as his friend opened it.

Simmons cast a glance sideways at Miles as he answered Sam. "That, my boy, is the super-secret, super-sealed, completely original and _unmodified _Certificate of Live Birth issued for one Alvin McPherson, now Alvin Schlotter. I suggest you pay special attention to the "Father" space.

Sam moved around Miles to look over his shoulder and, sure enough, there it was, right where it ought to be.

The name "Miles Lancaster".

Written in Ediths' own script.

"Dude, you are _so _boned." Sam remarked, still in a state of mild incomprehension. Miles was still staring at the form, and was wondering, just out of stupid, juvenile curiosity, whether Alvin looked anything like he had as a baby.

It was at this time that the nameless Earth-bot detached from Bumblebee's undercarriage and scuttled away to hide, and Bumblebee changed into his humanoid form. Walking over to Optimus and Rachet, he cast a glance towards the two younger humans. "_Were either of you aware that Miles had sired offspring_?" Bee asked his superiors in Cybertronian.

It was Ratchet who answered him. "_No, And I do not believe that Miles knew either. Optimus... why would Barricade involve himself with humans? Could it be some sort of hostage situation?_"

"_Perhaps_." Optimus looked toward the hanging cage, where Frenzy was enjoying a fresh paddleball. "_And if she and the child are hostages, we may need to perform an exchange_."

Frenzy noticed they were looking at him, interrupted his play and signed quite plainly...

_//What the slag are you starring at?//_

If Ratchet had possessed a sense of sarcasm, he would have quipped in and referred to the inevitable mission as "fun". As it was, it was shaping up to be a bit of a nightmare scenario.


	4. The Blackest Crow

Transformers: Starscream Ascendant

Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Summary: What goes on inside the head of the disgraced? What would they do redeem themselves? Pretty much anything, really, if it otherwise meant being fragged for desertion.

* * *

**Late Afternoon, June 19, 2008.**

**Interstate 44, Southwest of St. Louis.**

The Decepticon Barricade had only been in close proximity to this human for one day, and he already knew one important thing.

Threatening humans was a lot easier than caring for them. Maybe that's why he'd never tried it.

Or had _wanted to_, for that matter.

He'd experienced his first covert resupply mission on this world the previous day (which pretty much involved being parked on a big slab of stone chips and hydrocarbons for 42 minutes while the woman went in and bought the needed amenities). That was a bit of a letdown after the excitement of the old smash and (mostly) grabs that Frenzy had indulged in to stave off boredom. He'd also seen some of the other side of the continent. _Nice_, but not truly enjoyable unless one was a real sightseer, of which Barricade was not.

On a slightly more positive note, he _had _ripped out his first wall. He'd been trying for the door but if you can do it, why hold back? The wood frame construction had made it a bit easier, but he'd wished his throw had been a bit better.

_Slag_, this highway driving was boring without a chase.

His internal sensors picked up digestive activity in the cabin, most likely from the infant.

Was the female using formula, which would cause a possible mess?

Was she nursing naturally?

Could a female lactate after so long with no prior activity?

Why did that matter?

Why did he _care_?

Why was he even _doing_ this?

_'Because you value your own continued existence.' _He thought.

Ah... _that._

It was probably stupid of him to think that he was the only one left, or that he could hide.

_**50 weeks ago, Red Rock Desert, Utah, Midday**_

_Barricade's automotive form was thrown aside by the concussive force of the explosion, rocks and soil blocking his visual sensors. To avoid flipping onto his roof and becoming immobile, he transformed...and thusly a great metal claw pinned his chest down, his back to the ground. When the dust cleared, he saw two things: a laser cannon pointed at his head and Starscreams' face._

"_We meet again, Pilot. It is a pity that we did not meet to fight together in our last battle. I wonder why that is?" Starscream asked in an almost conversational tone. Barricade started moving his arms, thinking maybe a bit of creative flailing could blind the seeker and facilitate his escape, but Starscream simply increased the power of the cannon and moved it slightly closer. "Do not even think of it." He moved his head down, closer to the face of the trapped scout. "Are you familiar with the Military laws of the First War, specifically the penalty for desertion? I believe they're encoded in Decepticon Law as well."_

"_The punishment for desertion is death." Barricade stated, not seeing any point in lying about a well known fact._

"_That is correct. And desertion does fit the situation: dereliction of duty, abandonment of comrades, absence from a critical battle where your small size would have been an advantage in an urban setting. By all rights you deserve to die." But then Starscream did something unexpected: he lifted the cannon from the scout's face and shifted it back into his right hand. "But, as it happens, I have a better use for you."_

That had been the beginning of a plan that Barricade had, at first, considered to be the product of a deranged and damaged mind. However, in the interest of his own survival, he had accepted. Data had been transmitted to him, scans had been done, audio surveillance had been performed and for eight months he'd tracked a signal that shouldn't have existed on this side of the country.

But if Starscream was _right_...

"You didn't have to be so rough with them." His audio sensors picked up the sound of the females' voice from the cabin, and his internal optical sensor (in the dashboard camera) swiveled to look at Edith, who was sitting in the passenger seat and feeding Alvin from a bottle.

So she _wasn't _lactating. That could present difficulties.

"THEY WERE NOT DAMAGED." The printed words flashed on the monitor of the onboard laptop.

"But still... maybe I should have been a bit more polite, not so, well... not as demanding. And all that wall-ripping was a bit excessive"

"YOU WERE WORRIED FOR YOUR CHILD'S SAFETY. ALSO, THE MALE WAS ON THE VERGE OF TERMINATING CONTACT; ACTION HAD TO BE TAKEN."

That had also been part of Starscream's plan. Be kind, be understanding, be patient with this girl and her insecurities and fears, he had said. After all, Starscream had instructed, it is a fact of their history that those who can bend emotions to their desires are better able to command loyalty.

Not so unlike themselves, now that Barricade thought about it.

And they couldn't afford to screw this up... _not_ if the readings were accurate.

"YOU AND I BOTH SAW WHAT WAS IN THAT FILE. THEIR SON'S DEATH RAISES SERIOUS QUESTIONS ABOUT THE SAFETY OF THE HOME, REGARDLESS OF ANY PERSONAL FAULT." Another important part of the plan was to emphasize that the child could be endangered in his present home, and to draw on that fear for his safety to ensure her willing cooperation.

"But they said that they never had any other children. Why would they lie?" That _was_ something to ponder. Barricade knew just as much as the girl about the authenticity of the information in the folder... which was very little. There was the child's name (Todd Edward Schlotter), Date of death, and a somewhat cryptic reference to "4 months". The Cause of Death was marked as "undetermined". Truth be told, he didn't know much about this supposed plan, but he'd followed stranger orders over the eons and if it meant keeping himself alive, he'd choose ignorance every time.

Now, in a fleshling who was thinking rationally, those information gaps would have probably caused some suspicion to arise. But Barricade suspected that this female, suffering from various separation issues (such as separation from her child when she had desired a greater degree of involvement in his rearing, and separation from her mate), was not behaving in a totally rational manner.

"MAYBE THEY WERE AFRAID, OR ASHAMED, OR JUST TRAUMATIZED FROM HIS DEATH. THE FEMALE MAY HAVE EVEN BELIEVED THAT THERE WAS CAUSE FOR CONCERN... YOU DID REPORT THAT SHE SURRENDERED THE CHILD VOLUNTARILY, DID YOU NOT?" Barricade wondered about that as well. From what little he understood about modern adoptions in this nation, a substantial amount of currency must have changed hands between individuals and agencies. That someone with such a large monetary investment would just hand it over was... _interesting_.

"Yeah... maybe you're right." Alvin stopped sucking and Edith removed the bottle from his mouth. "It's just... at first I couldn't imagine a life with a baby, and then I couldn't imagine one without Alvin. And now that I have him back..." She sighed. "my face must be in every Post Office in the country." She moved Alvin to a burping position and gently rubbed his back.

_And_ every news channel, current events blog, crime-watch website, possibly the newspapers and _almost certainly_ every police station west of Detroit, thought Barricade. In other words, she was a hunted woman, and that made it all the more important that he had changed models to a sedan cruiser for more storage space, and therefor less stops for supplies. It had also occurred to him to form the extra panels sticking out of his back into a pack of sorts, to keep the supplies intact when he transformed.

He sincerely hoped Starscream actually had a plan beyond simply getting the kid, because if he was going to continue ferrying these fleshlings, driving them ever-closer to Autobot territory, he wanted to know that the payoff was worth it.

Because he was _not _getting beat up by that yellow mute again. If it had to happen, it was getting beat up by the Prime or nothing.

And then there was the seemingly superfluous promise to reunite her with her mate...

Alvin burped.

Barricade suddenly sensed something fatty and viscous drip onto the back of his seat.

"YOU FORGOT THE BURPING RAG."


	5. The Muster

Transformers: Starscream Ascendant

Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I clearly don't own anything presented in this story: no brands of consumer goods, the intellectual rights to the characters, or any real philosophical wossnames brought up in the plot. I'm just using them for entertainment purposes and making no money off of them. Moved to Movies Transformers

Author's note: This is potentially going to be a little more scandalous than my standard chapter, but still nothing explicit. I wouldn't know what to write anyway. Also, history went a little differently in this universe, in respect to the wars.

Summary: The expedition begins it's mustering of personnel and resources. Ironhide is retrieved (and is not pleased with his ordained cargo). Sam blabs about the mission and Miles, with the aid of an IPod and Annabelle Lennox... _remembers_.

* * *

**4:00 PM, Thursday, June 19, 2008**

**Street in front of Lancaster Residence**

**Tranquility, California.**

Miles locked the front door behind him. After meeting with the NBE's (Miles actually preferred his own acronym: BFAR's, or Big F**cking Alien Robots) and finding out (much to his own shock) that he'd passed on his genes, Banachek and the Asshole had advised him to pack up a few supplies for the upcoming mission.

A _mission_... just like that, they expected him to drop everything and go with them on some sort of secret-agent road-trip. Why should he bother? Alright, so he'd signed those NDA forms, and yes, there'd probably been some clause in there about them capping his ass legally or sending him to some "Camp Gamma" hellhole if he didn't go quietly. But his parents had a lawyer, a damn good one infact, and it could probably argued that, being 17, his signatures would not have been valid. So why was he going along with this?

Putting the keys into his pants pocket, his hand brushed the cool metal and plastic of his IPod 80G classic.

_Because you're hoping that, if you go, there's a chance of you seeing her again, that's why._

Okay... maybe he _did_ have a reason for going on this trip.

But before he did anything else, he had to take care of Mason, his families' 6-year old American Mastiff. Since his parent's wouldn't be home for another week, the best bet would be to drop Mason off at Sams' house. Mojo might be a bit of an annoyance with his "male dominance thing", but for some weird reason, Mason actually liked the little rat-dog.

Alright... dufflebag with clothes? Check. Pail full of Mason's food? Check. Instructions for what type of food and stuff Mason needed? Check. Well... that was it then. And with that, Miles followed Mason's insistent lead down the steps and out to the street, where Sam and Bumblebee waited. Mason leaped onto Bee's back seat and Miles got into the front passenger seat. Sam was sitting in the driver's seat, talking on his cell phone. He appeared to be at the tail end of a conversation , trying to ask questions but apparently getting the run-around. He finally gave up, said his farewells and closed the phone. "I don't believe it! First you don't tell me about your little romp with the exchange student and now this! Why didn't you tell _me _that you got lucky?"

Bumblebee smoothly moved out onto the road and accelerated until a safe and comfortable cruising speed had been reached. However, Miles wasn't in the mood for a nice drive. "Sam, there are some things you have to realize. First: a gentleman does not "kiss and tell". I assumed that included everything that came after kissing. And second, did you ever consider that there was... I don't know, a _different_ way of getting girls to like you besides big muscles, fast cars and overpriced synthetic pheromones?"

"I don't know! Maybe there is. But it always seemed that girls were attracted to that stuff." Sam felt that he didn't need to identify the biggest source of that stereotype in their own knowledge base: if not DeMarco himself, than definately his social circle.

"Well, I can tell you that, sometimes, they aren't. I just happened to spend 9 months getting to know her. And let me ask you something: before Bee here inserted his way into your life, did you know _anything_ about Mikaela besides the fact that she had a mind-numbing bod' and dated jocks like Trent?" Miles asked his friend pointedly.

"Uh... well.... When I drove her home I found out she was good with cars." He looked at Miles, to find that the other man was regarding him with a look that said 'That ain't good enough.' "But I guess that was after Bee found me." he finished sheepishly. Then he decided to challenge Miles back. "And what do you know about your chick then?"

Miles sat back, crossed his arms, and began thinking. "Well, she's interested in journalism as a career, she likes vanilla soft-serve and homemade chocolate pudding, she prefers regular Coke, her favorite color is purple, she's Presbyterian from her Dad, her Mom converted but the rest of the family is Southern Baptist, she dislikes all rap other than _Gangsta's Paradise_..."

Miles was probably nowhere hear done his description, so Sam interrupted him "Alright, so you know all about her and her quirks and dreams and stuff. And I guess that you even know if she has any embarrassing freckles or anything, do I have it right?"

Miles shrugged. "Nope."

Sam was, by now, confused. "How couldn't you? You guys had sex, right?"

Miles silently sighed in annoyance. "She was wearing a robe and by the time she took it off, all the lights were out."

Sam was now even more confused. "You guys did it in the dark... and she was wearing a robe? As in taken everything off and put a robe on only to take it off again?"

"Some girls are just old-fashioned like that." Explained Miles to his friend in a certain tone of voice that indicated that he _liked_ that in a woman. Then he began getting thoughtful again "Although..."

This caught Sam's attention. "What?"

Miles furled his brow. "It's just that... she had this really weird burn scar on her hand." His eyes darted to Sam's own hands. Sam noticed this and asked what he was looking at. Luckily, they were already at Sam's house, and Miles was able to pass it off as looking past the wheel to the front door, where Ron Witwicky was waiting for them.

So Miles took Mason and the supplies into the house. Inside, Mason was handed over, the food was taken, Mojo was fended off and Miles was ready to leave when Ron held him back for a minute. "Miles... How long have you known our family?"

"Um... Since me and Sam were in second grade. Why?" If the Witwickys had been watching the news, then...

Ron sighed a bit, as if he was about to broach the subject with his own son. "Miles... I know that, last year, you and that girl were... _pretty close_. You were certainly acting that way when I went to chaperone at the dance last year. And with the news today..." Ronald sighed again. "Miles... what I want to know is if you... had any part to play in it?" This question had probably taken a lot of rehearsal, and Ron was clearly not comfortable asking it.

Miles relented and decided to answer as honestly and clearly as he could. "Yeah, the verdict's that I probably _am_ the father." After saying it the second time, it didn't seem quite so... well, _terrifying._

"And what do you plan to do about it?" Ron asked, likely glad that the awkward "question" phase was over and could now do his "John-Wayne-deep-question" thing.

Miles had been thinking of a few things, but those included either straight-up cowardly retreat, in which case the Feds would probably hunt him down like a dog and make him go anyway, or the other option which, for now, was too wild and frightening and, in some way, tantalizing to be taken seriously. "I'm working on that one."

"Well, you better, and when your parents get back you better have a good explanation." The Archi-Tech Conference on Structural Engineering (with special emphasis on designing for the San Andreas Fault area) was being held at the Bellagio and lasted until next Wednesday, so Miles did have some time to go do whatever he had to do.

"I will. Good luck with Mason, Mr. Witwicky." Miles bounded back down the steps and back to Sam and Bee. Ronald just stood there and wondered, for a second, how it wasn't _Sam_ he was giving that talk too.

Well, never say that a Witwicky was one to shoot a gift horse in the head.

When Miles got back and got into the passenger seat, he decided to test Sam on what just happened. "Hey, did you tell your dad anything about what we're doing? He knew about Edith and Alvin and tried to give me _The Talk_." If Sam had...

"Miles, I swear I didn't tell my dad." Sam assured his human friend. Bee began driving again, hoping for nothing more than some standard banter and maybe a little quiet for once.

"Well, that's good." Replied Miles.

"Although... I sorta told Mikaela."

Bumblebees' tires squealed as the Autobot went into a full, shocked stop.

Miles was shocked. "_What_?! Why?"

"Look... First, she's my girlfriend, so I can't keep it from her when I'm going away on any secret missions. Second, we might need her if we find Edith. As a woman, she could, _hopefully_, attempt to reason with Edith. You know: get her to turn herself in, help against the Decepticons, give the baby back to the parents, everything that needs to be done." Sam told his friend, who was still looking at him funny. "Hey, that's what the FBI wants us to do: you to provide information and try to reason with her, me because I'm close to the Autobots, and now Mikaela as a... well, a back-up."

A _back-up_? A back-up for what? For him dying? Why would they need a back-up?

_To replace you when you start getting gushy over the kid, perhaps_? _For when you start thinking with your heart rather than with your head like they want_?

....

He did _so _not just think that!

"You and your big yap!" Miles could only shake his head in disbelief. Bee began moving again, and silently prayed to no particular deity for no more interruptions.

**6:00 PM, June 19th, 2008.**

**Lennox Property, Central Valley**

**Dinner-Time**

For William Lennox, this was paradise. He was home with his family, it was summertime, the check in payment for a difficult kitchen renovation had cleared and there was no further chance of him being shipped halfway around the world. And there was no better way of spending a summer evening than by barbecuing... unless it was a barbecue to celebrate the six month anniversary of his daughter's first steps.

And it was all because of a few robots fighting a few other robots. Secretary Keller had formally made him the Military Liaison to Optimus and his faction, although it wasn't official, being as they were trying to keep everything under wraps. They were still trying to say that Mission City was a giant terrorist attack, and they'd somehow managed to... _do something_ to the memories of the witnesses. Well, the explanation sort of made sense, seeing as Saudi Arabia had gone _kablooie_ in 2003, the Royal family was in exile in the States and the country was now ruled by a clique who... were pretty much the same thing as before, except for being anti-western and having melted down the solid gold toilets to pay for infrastructure.

However, the important part was that he was never going back there again. Now he could just work, relax, and spend time with his family: no bullets, no blood and, with any luck, nothing more to do with giant robots than Ironhide crashing in his driveway.

It was then that he looked up from the grill to see vehicles coming up the road: three black SUV's, one yellow Paramedic-Hummer, a darker yellow Camaro and the hulking blue and red form of a semi.

_Ah Shit!_

William turned the flame down on the grill and was about to head out to meet the newcomers when his wife Sarah came out of the screen door from the kitchen, a bowl of tossed salad in her arms and Annabelle, their toddling daughter, following along.

The vehicles pulled up next to the house, close, in fact, to where Ironhide was currently sleeping. Black-suited agents got out of the SUV's, while out of the three Autobots, only Optimus immediately transformed, while Ratchet first opened his back hatch and ejected a Plexiglass box out onto the gravel drive before doing same. Inside the box was... well, William didn't know quite _what_ it was, but it was silvery and humanoid with jagged edges and was apparently playing with a yo-yo. Bumblebee stayed as a Camero, while two of his occupants got out.

These two persons were Sam Witwicky and Mikaela Banes, two of the kids he'd met at the Hoover Dam and the ones that had been at Mission City. Before William could go and greet them however, the agents got to him. "Major Lennox." Banachek saluted. Lennox saluted back, reflecting that the promotion had been another part of the package deal: more pay, better benefits, a higher security clearance and the understanding that, as military liaison, he would never breathe a word of this to anyone... outside his own nuclear family.

"Alright, what can a do for you guys? I don't think I put enough meat on for everyone, but If I can get some more.."

Sam Witwicky interrupted him. "Actually, Mr. Lennox, we're just here to get Ironhide. We... kinda need him." Sam looked to the truck parked in the driveway, which was now, slowly and somewhat sleepily, morphing and standing into the recognizable shape that was their resident weapons specialist.

Ironhide, for his part, wasn't as confused as the good Major. Optimus had been transmitting data to him for hours, informing him of the situation, asking advice... and also asking if he would be so kind as to transport their bargaining chip in his box.

He refused... and _not _because the little psycho had repeatedly signed obscenities at him, or because he was sore at Optimus for letting Frenzy live, but because he doubted he could hide him effectively with this box. Besides, Ratchet was holding him well enough, and Frenzy would be gone if the theoretical hostage exchange actually happened, allowing Ratchet to hold any injured humans. However, dealing with Barricade and potentially Starscream could require all the firepower and tactical knowledge they could muster... which meant giving up the comfortable routine he'd settled into (for a few days, at least).

When asked for an opinion of who was the mastermind, Ironhide was blunt. "_It has to be Starscream. Barricade is only a scout; he can improvise tactics during battle, yes, but he's no good in dealing with organics. Starscream never had that drawback. A ruthless fighter of course, but he is also a solid politician and a meticulous planner and organizer. I could see his hands in this, but the question remains... why?" _To this, Optimus had no reply. This move defied all common sense: it created too much noise, and Starscream had always had more flair for secret plots and political agreements than something like this. That left few possibilities besides a potential misstep: possibly the operation was far too important for Starscream to worry about human interference, or possibly... it was something else. So far, it was an enigma.

Annabelle, for her part ignorant of political strategy, was delighted at the sight of Ironhide, having become accustomed to the giant Autobot to the point where the Lennox's had one, very special photo in their album. It had been taken not that long ago, and was of an embarrassed Ironhide looking down to see Annabelle smiling and attempting to hug his ankle. However, her curiosity soon led her to another robot... one that she'd never seen before.

"Major Lennox, since it now seems that the Prime has seen fit to introduce a military element into the operation, it might be good to bring in the Military on this one as well." Banachek was clearly signaling to William that he was welcome to come if at all possible... and if not, they'd just order him to.

"Well, I'd like to go, but I..." Alright, so he wasn't expecting any contracts for a few days, but he had responsibilities as head of a household.

"Secretary Keller has also authorized a salary of $2000 dollars a day for each day you are involved in these missions and are away from home." Banachek added.

But then again, Sarah did pretty well while he was stationed on the peninsula.

"Well... okay, but only if it's for a few days. Just let me see if we have any of Fig's gator goulash left, and let me say goodbye to Sarah and... hey, where's Annabelle?"

Annabelle was currently busy being fasciated by the strange creature in the Plexiglass box. Frenzy was looking back at the little fleshling, not quite sure if this being was a threat or simply curious as he was. Eventually Lennox found his daughter, picked her up away from the box... and noticed a young man sitting in Bee's back seat, doing nothing but apparently listening to his IPod and looking at the screen. Curious about him, William just went up to the window and knocked on the glass. "Hey, you alright in there?"

Miles suddenly looked up, shocked, and nodded. Walking his daughter back to the main group of people, Lennox went immediately to Sam and Mikaela, who were talking with Sarah and exchanging asinine greetings. "Hey, Sam? Who is that in the back seat?" He asked the younger man.

It was Mikaela who, in future, would alternately be praised and blamed for the events that would follow. "You know, I don't think Miles has ever ever met any of these people. I think it would be good for him."

Sam, on the other hand, was strangely against this. "Look, I don't think it's really neccessary right now. I think that Miles just needs some alone time to _work things through_."

William, ignorant of the special circumstances, agreed with Mikaela. The young woman then fetched Miles back to the them. First he was introduced to Sarah and then to Annabelle. "Isn't she just the cutest thing you've ever seen?" William asked the world at large, but the question reached Miles first, where the loving image of nuclear family domesticity began percolated in his head.

Later, after they had said their farewells and picked up fast-food take-out for those who hadn't eaten at the Lennox House, the convoy moved along the darkened highway, eventually crossing into Nevada. Still in Bee's back seat, Miles kept looking at the screen of his IPod, his ear-buds firmly in his ears. However, they were not there to provide a private listening experience, but merely to allay suspicion. As it happened, he wasn't actually _listening_ to anything. His was a purely visual experience; one dominated by flipping through digital photos.

Most of them were of an afternoon spent in Tranquility's entertainment district, and many of those photos were of himself, Edith, or both of them together. Mostly there was no indication of romance (or only of silly teenage flirtations), but one picture stood out: His and Edith's heads silhouetted against a bright scene of street performance.

She had been leaning her head on his shoulder.

For the first time since finding out, Miles seriously tried to pinpoint when it all began going wrong.

_I'd say somewhere between nookie-time and when Bumblebee ran over your cellphone._

...

Sometimes he _really_ hated his internal monologue.


	6. Blood, but no Alibi

Transformers: Starscream Ascendant

Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I still own nothing. I also apologize to any who may be offended by any of the fictional shenanigans in the workings of the fictional Adoption Agency. They may not be true in the vast majority of such agencies... however, such bureaucratic crookery does serve a purpose to the plot and there always is that small percentage in real life that isn't on the up and up.

Authors' Note: I want to get this off my chest. It seems to me that, in the rather new area of writing about teenage pregnancy, there is a bit of a gap. There is the Worst-case scenario, where the pregnancy goes through, the father is a non-entity, and the mother and baby are (more or less) banished to a life of under-education, poverty and future social problems. Then there are the compromises, being mainly abortion and adoption. These seem to get mixed results, as an audience does not especially desire these save for the dramatic tensions they inevitably bring to the fore, or when they do not, people complain about lack of realism (I am not dropping names). And then there is the Best-case scenario, which is never really portrayed... mostly for being the most boring, as the Best-case is the pregnancy never happening in the first place.

However, there is still a slight gap: that gap being the wrap-around that bridges the Best and the Worst on the other side of Compromise: The veritable Happy Ending. This is the situation where the father is present, both parents struggle and work hard to finish schooling and pursue careers while looking after the child, sometimes with help, sometimes without. My theory is that such things are not written of in an attempt to discourage teen pregnancy in the first place, or because of lack of realism. The first is understandable, while the second... let me just say that when you begin writing about giant robots morphing into domestic automobiles, reality becomes a little subjective.

Summary. Edith changes a diaper, and reflects on what, exactly, she's done. Barricade taps out a tune and keeps watch. And Martha Schlotter, meanwhile, has realized that not all is what it had seemed to be.

**10 PM, Thursday, June 19**

**North of Seneca, Missouri**

**Slightly more than 1 mile from the Oklahoma state line**

Under a flickering, underpowered florescent light in a vacant, slightly filthy service-station washroom, Edith McPherson performed the duty that, in certain schools of thought, epitomized the true meaning of parenthood.

It was convenient, then, that this facility was modern enough to possess one of those plastic fold-down changing platforms. Remove, toss, wipe clean, apply ointment in case of rash, apply talcum for dryness, re-wrap, re-dress, wash hands while keeping Alvin safe in a carrier... It was surprising that she hadn't cracked by now, given everything.

There was the crying, the bouts of fussiness, the demand for food, for warmth, for contact. There were the attempts to grab and tug at her hair (remedied for the most part by tying it into a pony-tail, though Edith was starting to consider having it cut it short): inconveniences for the most part. There was also, however, the immense relief of just being with her son and knowing he was alright. It was, in her mind, enough to outweigh all the minor tribulations and trials that caring for an infant entailed.

Besides, the fussing wasn't _that_ bad. It also wasn't as if she hadn't ever handled babies before. Her cousin Miranda's baby girl had provided an opportunity for a changing lesson during the holidays, back when she still hoped that... well, it had been a bit of a pipe-dream, really.

It had been a painful, ugly period immediately after she'd found out she was pregnant. Her mother had not _exactly_ shouted at her, but the sense of shocked disappointment had been palpable when she heard the news. It didn't help that most of the Parr's (her mothers family) had heartily taken to the belief that the source of her condition was involvement in some sort of cannabis-fueled hippy orgy, based on what little they knew of the State of California. Desperate to prove them wrong, she'd even phoned the number for Miles' cell, that he had given her before she left.

_Nothing_...

It wasn't even that no one answered, it was just that the phone couldn't be reached at all. She'd even considered going to the library to look up a phonebook for Tranquility in hopes of finding the home address. However, by that time her parents had come to her and told her, honestly and openly, that given everything that had happened and given that she still wanted to pursue an education and a career, maybe adoption was an adequate solution. Their arguments had been quite persuasive, as she knew that they only cared for her well-being.

However, she had began investigating the option of "open" adoption, where she would still be able to maintain some contact with her child, even if it wasn't as primary caregiver. The message she had gotten from the chosen agency, a well-respected tri-state placement organization was that, frankly, that wouldn't be possible. With the glut of children in the system, finding prospective parents willing to acquiesce to an open arrangement would be near impossible, and there was already a couple on the waiting list... one that had requested a closed arrangement.

Looking back, something just seemed wrong with that logic.

And so, with assurances from all sides that she was doing the right thing, she had, extremely hesitantly, gone with it. The pregnancy had come to term, she'd spent 16 hours in labor and, for a little while, had chosen to connect with her son, naming him and even nursing him. And then they had bundled him up and taken him away to what was hopefully a better life.

People said she would "go on with her life", that she would "forget". These were usually people outside her family, who only knew her peripherally. But soon the nightmares began. Running through rooms following what she knew was Alvin's crying but never finding him, or finding the last door inevitably locked were the usual. There was one bizarre dream where she found source of the crying, but it was coming from a 4-slice toaster that her parents believed had been stolen ten years ago. And sometimes she had also heard Miles' voice, echoing through the rooms, calling out for her.

During the day for the first month or so, she'd tried to act as if everything was alright, that she really was "getting over it". Some people even believed it. That lasted roughly until the Easter Ham Dinner when Miranda had, in a moment of quiet pity, offered to let Edith hold little Alice. Seeing a baby close up, hearing it giggle and gurgle, had caused her to begin to chuckle in return, then laugh... a laugh that had degenerated into harsh, racking sobs. Miranda had been shocked, and had taken Alice back, but the sobbing had continued even as she had retreated to the privacy of the bathroom.

She had admit that there was no getting around her feelings: she missed her son, missed him more terribly than most could possibly hope to imagine. She also missed Miles, the man who had shown her a little of what life was like near the coasts and who she had felt she could... well, mabye she couldn't have opened up about that _one_ thing, at least not at the time.

So when a police car had pulled up to her as she walking home from her grad ceremony, and especially when the apparent officer said that he had info indicating that her son was in danger, she had virtually jumped at the chance to act. Even when her helpful officer turned out to be a hologram and his cruiser the actual actor and a giant, aggressive, interrogation-happy robot to boot, it hadn't really phased her. Given some incidents when she was a kid, it was sort of re-assuring.

Speaking of which...

Turning off the tap, she gathered up the changing supplies, picked up Alvin's carrier (with him in it) and walked back out the door. It helped that the lock had been torn out by a swipe from one of Barricade's fingers. She shut off the light, closed the door and glanced at Barricade, who was crouched beside the building, watching the road and local sky. He was also tapping out what vaguely sounded like a tune on the metal of his leg-plates.

She coughed as if to clear her throat. It wasn't really necessary, as his periphery scanners knew she was there, but a system of polite acknowledgement had seemed to develop between them. Barricade looked down at her, curtly nodded and... _folded_ into a police cruiser with Missouri markings. Looking into the back seat, she saw that all the supplies were, by some miracle, just as they had been: a little jumbled but nothing spilled or broken. The driver-side door popped open, she got in, took Alvin out of the carrier, closed the door and held him as they drove off to the southwest.

She didn't know what she'd do if she ever saw Miles again: whether to kiss him or kick him where it hurt. But she had to get to him, she had to at least know _why_ the number hadn't worked.

And to tell him that the spark had never really died.

**8 AM, Friday, June 20**

**Evansville, Indiana**

**Little Angels Adoption Agency**

Martha Schlotter sat in a chair. It was a decent chair: the frame was sanded and polished wood, and the cushions a velvety grey fabric. The room she was in was obviously one designed to put people most at ease: pastel colors, faux-planters built right into the walls to form alcoves, and potted synthetic plants disguised by rough mulch. It was, in fact, a waiting room.

And curiously enough, she was waiting. Waiting to see the man who had given her and Ted his word, his _word_ that their wishes would be respected. The man who had been referred to them again and again for honest adoption services.

And given the events of Wednesday night, he was also the rat-bastard who had lied to her.

"Excuse me, ma'am? Mr. Bennett will see you now." The secretary, an upbeat, petite African-American woman informed her. She stood up and followed the younger woman to the office. After being ushered in and sitting down before the desk, the man behind the desk, a man in his late 40's and padded as such looked up from his writing

"Mrs. Schlotter, let me say, from all of us here at Little Angels, that we extend our deepest sympathy to you and your husband and if there is anything we can do, you need only name it." The man seemed sincere, even saddened, but the sheer gap between promises and reality kept fueling Martha's indignation.

"Oh, I think you've done quite enough." Martha said, her annoyance showing through. 'Mr. Bennett, when me and my husband came to you, I laid out a very simple series of requests and you said you would try your best to carry these out." She leaned forward, still looking him in the eyes. "Have you been watching the news, Mr. Bennett?"

Awful lot of foreshadowing in this chapter. If you can spot it, of course.


	7. Pizza and Pranks

**Transformers: Starscream Ascendant**

**Chapter 7**

Disclaimer: I do not own anything. However, I do wish I owned pizza.

Synopsis: Glenn Whitman never ordered 44 pepperoni pizzas. Neither did his cousin. And certainly not his grandma. So the question is: who did?

* * *

**12:35 PM**

**Somewhere near Washington DC**

Glenn Whitman was not having a good day. Or a good week for that matter. Hell, the entire previous month was probably a write-off. First he'd bought a "hardly-used" Xbox 360 at a local pawn shop a week ago. It worked fine, but unusual things had started happening. Scores for games had started appearing that were not his, even though he'd used fresh memory cards. His cousin had sworn up and down that he wasn't the one playing (besides, he had a card of his own)... and now this. "What are you talking about? I didn't order any pizzas!"

The delivery person wasn't amused. And with 44 pepperoni pies (with extra cheese) in the back of an old hatch-back, she was in no mood to stand around. "Sir, we got the order through the internet. Is this your account info?" She handed the clipboard to Glenn, and when he layed eyes on the paper, he couldn't believe it.

It _was_ his account!

"Alright, look, can I pay by debit card?" The young woman nodded and went back to he car to get the scanner. Upon coming back, Glenn had gotten his wallet. "Alright, look: you know the community centre three blocks that way?" He pointed down the street. "Just deliver the pizzas there and say it's a donation from _Whitman & Associates_, alright? Trust me, those kids love pizza!" The money was paid, the delivery car drove off and Glenn went back inside, angry and eager to find out who had done this.

As Glenn passed the open door of his room, he did not see a pair of eyes follow him. The fact that these eyes were extensions of two quadrants on the 'Ring of Light' on his 360 was the unusual part.

The being was beginning to gain an appreciation for this sort of thing, this _practical_ joking.

Perhaps next time he would order breadsticks as well.

* * *

Just a short, silly little chapter to re-introduce some old characters and another Earth-bot


	8. A Divergence of Views

Transformers: Starscream Ascendant

Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, and this is a story for entertainment purposes only.

Summary: The crew gets gas. Miles decides he wants to get away from Sam for a while, so he hitches a ride with the only other "family man" in the group. Mikaela listens to Sam and gets a bit frustrated. And Banachek finally gets a lead on Barricade.

* * *

**2:00 PM Local Time, Friday, June 20th 2008**

**Denver, Colorado**

**7-Eleven Refueling Station**

Compared to the heat outside, the inside of the store was practically icy in it's air-conditioned wonderful-ness. Miles looked though the rows of dry-goods , looking for something to snack on while he deliberated just _what the hell_ he was going to do and what he would say if or when he ever met Edith again. He knew what Sam thought he should say but he didn't believe "Hey babe, sorry for not being there for you, but I think you should hand your son back to total strangers and surrender yourself to the fuzz" sounded right. Actually, it sounded positively condescending. And Sam never even mentioned what they'd do about this police-bot that was with her.

Hmm, ketchup chips, that might be good. Add a Coke Slurpee and the mind-juices should just start flowing.

After paying, Miles went outside, back towards the convoy. The Autobots didn't rely on liquid fossil fuels, being capable of absorbing ambient energy from the environment (solar radiation, kinetic energy from wind, and the ever-popular leakage from high-tension power lines.) However, the government vehicles did need gasoline and it was costing a bundle. He looked toward his preliminary destination: Bumblebee, and dreaded continuing on. He really didn't feel like riding with Sam right now; the mood between them had really chilled in the last couple hours. Even Mikaela was getting annoyed at the arguments flaring up between the (hopefully not former) best friends.

He needed to ride with someone else for a while. There were the G-Men... but he really didn't want to ride with "the fuzz" either, given what he was actually contemplating. Optimus was a possibility, but he didn't like the thought of being so far off the ground or being lectured to by someone likely older than his own species. That also disqualified Ratchet who'd probably try to analyze his feelings medically... and besides, after the 20th time of getting beat at "Rock-Scissors-Dynamite" by Frenzy, the little nutcase seemed to get bored with him. That left...

Miles looked toward Ironhide. Why not, thought Miles? He wouldn't try to lecture him, he'd just drive. As an added bonus, Mr. Lennox was riding with him: he could get advice from a man who actually had a family and had gone though all the stuff with babies. He walked toward the black GMC Topkick where William was gulping down a hotdog topped with everything. "Mr. Lennox?"

"Yeah?" William finished his hotdog. "What's up?"

"Well... could I ride with you and Ironhide for a while?" He just... he needed to collect his thoughts for awhile without Sam' pontificating.

"I thought you were riding with your friends." William glanced towards Bumblebee, parked on the edge of the lot bedsides Ratchet and Optimus. "Is something wrong?"

"No..." Miles answered, perhaps a little too quickly. "It's just that I need some advice."

"Advice about what?" William didn't immediately get the intonations and inflections of the voice... but then he remembered two things: one of the goals of this mission, and his own experience, some 28 months ago, as his wife held up a very significant plastic stick. "The Girl?" Miles nodded and William sought to do... _anything_. "Uh... shall we step inside then?" Both of Ironhide's starboard doors opened and William with his Big Gulp full of Sprite and Miles with his chips and Slurpee got in. "So... you wanna talk about it?"

The Convoy began moving out, SUV's in the front, Autobots in the rear. "Well... first off, I'm this babies' father. I haven't mentioned this to alot of other people. Just Sam and he told Mikaela for some reason. And then Sam's dad got it out of me... and of course the MIB's know." Miles sighed. "It's just that... I wish I could have done something for her... been there for her... hell, even known that she was pregnant!" His head fell forward until his forehead rested on the back of the front seat.

"Did... _do _you love this girl?" William asked Miles, thinking that whatever answer he got would be a good indicator.

Miles sprang up, surprised at the question... and struggled to actually come up with a definition. "Well... we like alot of the same things: pizza with olives, screwball comedies, Jim Henson projects, the Original Star Wars Trilogy. We respected each other's boundaries, in that I knew she was still uncomfortable with the whole 'Free love' image California has and she got that I didn't want anyone to be denied their heartfelt thingies." Miles then ventured into slightly more personal territory. "And I knew that she didn't want to actually sleep with anybody unless she knew that he was totally right for her, so, even when I began getting hot for her, I didn't push it. And when she actually came onto _me_, I made sure that she was as comfortable as possible: no lights, under the sheets and all our clothes off." He noticed William simply starring at him incredulously. "She thought that having sex with your clothes still on was, and I quote, 'slutty'." He even made the quote signs with his hands, having mistaken Major Lennox's shock for mere puzzlement.

William shook himself out the shocked stupor he'd gone into. "First of all, I'm going to forget that you said anything after 'as comfortable as possible'. Secondly, let a married man give you some free advice: never, and I mean _never _divulge the details of you and your partners' sex-life. It's considered a breach of trust and your girl will probably kill you if she finds out." William looked at Miles, who was now regretting spilling all that stuff at the end. "And besides, you left out the most important thing: you guys share interests and tastes and even except each others limitations and wishes... but if it came _right down to it_, if one of you was really on the line for something... what would you do?"

Miles breathed deep, preparing to finally say what he really felt. "Well... that's what I wanted to talk about. Sam thinks I'm crazy, but..."

**Meanwhile, Bumblebee's Cockpit**

"He's crazy! There's no other explanation!" Sam Witwicky was upset; upset that one of his closest friends had seriously told him that he would, in effect, be throwing his life away.

Mikaela, on the other hand, was upset at what she saw as Sam's overreaction. Okay, so maybe Miles' plan was a bit... sudden, but wasn't it the sort of thing he'd be praised for? That so many young men were exalted to do in similar circumstances?

That her own father had done?

"Maybe he feels that he didn't do enough and he's trying to make up for it? Maybe it's not so crazy after all?" Mikaela was, in a way, disappointed in Sam. What did he think his own family motto meant? She'd looked through the Family bible: Great-Great Grandpa Archibald had been the son of Andor Witwicki, a factory manager who had immigrated from the far east of the Hapsburg Empire and Beatrice Fife, estranged daughter of one of the wealthiest of the Mid-Atlantic steel families. After Andor had 'fallen out' with her father in the early 1850's (and been subsequently fired from a nepotistic position he had otherwise fared well at) he'd fled Pittsburgh for the untamed wilds of Minnesota... without taking his wife and young son with him.

Beatrice's family had made sure that, of course, she hadn't slid into abject poverty. But being a single mother in that era had been unthinkable, and having a married name that did not jive with your accent nor mannerisms made her social life extremely tenuous. Old friends either did their best to avoid her or felt sorry for her, her parents kept trying to introduce her to well-off bachelors in order to salvage some of her honor and give Archibald a "proper" surname/pedigree. But the bitter truth was that after the whirlwind romance and subsequent abandonment by Andor, she found it difficult to trust men.

So she had raised Archibald herself, and taught him one important thing: For every victory over hardship, a sacrifice usually followed or preceded. That had been especially drilled into him during the years of 1861-65, years where she had very nearly had to chain him to his bed in order to keep him from running away to the army to fight the rebels. When the photographs of the carnage and the killing fields had been published, she'd drilled into him that if one truly wanted to succeed, to be victorious, one had to realize what sort of sacrifices one might be forced to make: either of death for going to war, or of sacrificing your own good name to remain independent.

"Mikaela, I know that, ordinarily, it'd be a good thing. But I don't think either you or Miles realizes that a _crime_ has been committed. That baby _had_ a family, and Edith kidnapped him. I don't want Miles getting involved with a wanted criminal, especially one with an Amber Alert on her head. I just want everything to resolve itself." Sam thought that this wasn't being taken seriously enough: bad enough that Mile's old flame had an arrest warrant out on her, but it was for kidnapping a kid... alright, _her_ kid but that was the thing. Once the kid was adopted, it _wasn't hers _anymore... at least not in the eyes of the law. And then... what if it was worse?

"Sam... we don't even know what's really going on. For all we know she could be under duress." Mikaela tried the angle that very little was actually known about the circumstances of the event.

To this Sam responded "And what if she wasn't?"

Mikaela just stared at Sam, wondering if he could have possibly meant what she thought he meant. However, this moment of shock was broken as Banachek's voice came in over the speakers. "_Agents have identified targets in Tulsa, Oklahoma. I repeat: Tulsa, Oklahoma. All personnel respond_."

The situation had just gotten... more _at hand_.


	9. Half the way to California

Transformers: Starscream Ascendant

Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own anything, but I'm using the characters and setting to explore ideas of politics and a little culture... and write as if for Hollywood. I'm including a few choice bits from the RotF trailers as well. And as for Frank Herbert... well, that's starting right near the end.

Summary: Decepticons fight and Decepticons die, and tonight Barricade was sure he was going to die. But he didn't...

A/N: This is my first really big action scene, so if I could get some con-crit, it would be really helpful. Also, it's my first attempt at trying explore how a Cybertronian would interpret the world and the human senses of touch, smell, pain, etc., in their own terms.

**1:47 AM Local Time, Saturday, June 21st 2008**

**Amarillo, Texas**

It had to happen, it just _had_ to happen.

Barricade had not survived for this long by being prone to panic... but he _was_ starting to worry. He'd only stopped for a bit in Tulsa so he could send up another of those stupid data-pulses that Soundwave was famous for mandating. Alright, so a regular progress report on the mission was necessary, but did one have to be sent every twelve hours _to the minute_? Did the vaunted Master of Espionage not realize how much that was slowing him down, having to stop every day and night precisely on time?

But it _had to be him_, didn't it? Soundwave wouldn't trust any signal coming directly from Starscream and Starscream didn't want to antagonize him any more than usual. Sometimes Barricade though that the two politicians would have scragged each other years ago were it not for Blackout keeping the peace through brute intimidation and Shockwave's cool assertions that neither of them were expendable right at the moment.

And now he were being chased by what was probably every police vehicle in the Texas panhandle. Normally he would have been able to lose his pursuers easily, by ducking away and changing his appearance on the fly. This time, however, it hadn't worked; they'd still found him once he'd shed his white markings and his flashers. And now his sensors were detecting additional craft on both his flanks one or two streets away.

Not only was he being chased... now he was being _corralled_!

To be fair, there _were_ tricks he could use to get out of this; stunts so reckless and high-speed that no human pursuers could ever catch him. Of course, they were also potentially fatal to any humans _who happened to be in the cockpit at the time_. Those were right out, as Starscream had made it quite clear that if the girl or _especially_ if the child were damaged or killed, he would take great pleasure in prolonging the scout's slow and painful death.

That left two options: try to outdrive his pursuers with pure speed, or try to make a stand and contact Starscream to come in and blast them to slag.

His internal online map showed a rail yard nearby.

Rail yard... railroad cars... huge, semi-mobile containers made out of steel.

Taking his own designation as a cue, Barricade began to formulate a plan.

Inside the cockpit, Edith was, unlike Barricade, definitely entering a state of full-blown panic. Alvin had been fussing ever since this began: 12 hours since he'd had any decent sleep, crying for a quarter of that time, hardly a chance to adequately feed him and she was sure he'd soiled himself, possibly multiple times, in the interim. He didn't deserve _any of this_; a baby should be at home, sleeping in a crib in a proper bedroom, not crying in a robot car going 90 MPH in the middle of the night being chased by the police!

She was even beginning to doubt whether this had been the right thing to do. She knew she wanted Alvin back in her life, but...

Suddenly, this increasingly desperate line of thought was disrupted as Barricade began to jolt up and down. Looking out the window, Edith saw rows and rows of railroad tracks and the shadowed forms of the containers and boxcars going past.

Finally screeching to a halt behind a string of rust-red boxcars, Barricade used his computer screen to issue one simple command in extremely large font.

"OUT! NOW!"

Edith immediately got out of Barricade, getting the feeling that it would not be a good idea to dally. Still clutching her fussing son, as she had for the past half-day, she watched as Barricade transformed. That was one of the things that had practically transfixed her since encountering him: the very manner in which he changed his form from wheeled vehicle to two-legged mechanoid. It was almost graceful, with the shifting of mass and parts seeming altogether fluid and organic rather than clunky and mechanical like one would expect.

Finally standing, Barricade strode over to one of the boxcars and began examining the linkages between the cars. Finding them intact, the Decepticon formed his right hand into a cannon and blasted one to scrap, then moved to the other to do the same in a violent spectacle of blue plasma and white sparks of metal. With the car completely loose, Barricade moved to the next step: giving himself the Cybetronian version of a hernia.

Police and patrolmen poured out of their vehicles in front of the line of boxcars, and all of them scattered back in surprise and fear when one of the huge steel constructs began to groan ominously and tip forward. With a resounding crash, the car landed on its side, flinging dust everywhere and sending men and vehicles retreating to a "safe distance".

Barricade chuckled darkly as he peeked over his make-shift barricade, watching the humans scatter like quail in the wind. Despite his arms now feeling like re-fried rubber bands, the fact that this was working so well cheered the Decepticon in a way that he had not felt in... well, _eons_. But better he let Starscream know where he was than just sit around and wait for the humans to regroup... no matter how badly he wanted to squeeze off a few warning shots so they didn't get any ideas.

"_Barricade to Starscream, Barricade to Starscream: am pinned down in Amarillo Rail yard. Requesting fire support. Coordinates..._" He rattled off a string of jargon that, while they were rather standard Sentinel-Era four-dimensional coordinates, were probably far too complex to properly translate into English or human mathematics. Right now he wasn't thinking about what it would look like to his charges, to see him kneeling behind his shelter, digit to the side of his head, spouting strange noises into seemingly thin air. He only cared about getting out of this with the humans alive and himself in one piece... because if they didn't stay alive, he wouldn't be in one piece for much longer anyway. 

**Beyond the barricade...**

The humans were... _confused_, even frightened. They, as police and State troopers, had trained for all sorts of incidents, and in cases such as these it was expected that the culprits would try to fight back or flee. What they had _not_ been expecting was what had just happened. Even Silas Burke, ranking officer and hastily elected leader of the group, was utterly stumped on what to do. Every one of these men and women were trained to fulfil their duties... but when a boxcar tipped over on you, was seemingly _pushed_ by something unseen, it could seriously shake people.

However, the situation was quickly taken out of their hands.

Black vehicles streamed into the rail yard. Sedans and SUV's, they lacked any distinguishing marks or even, to the astonishment of several officers, proper license plates, instead having numbers: S7-01, S7-02, etcetera. Out of these vehicles came black suited men and black-clad paramilitary types, armed with MP5's, assault rifles and what appeared to be grenade launchers. "What's going on? Who are you guys?" Silas shouted as he approached a group of black-suited men clustered in discussion.

One of them, a tall man with a blond crew-cut, detached himself from the huddle. "Agent Matthew Black, I'm with Section Seven. I suggest you and your people vacate the area, it may get dangerous."

Silas was getting the distinct, uncomfortable feelings that he was not only going to get screwed out of any real answers but that he was talking to a man who probably had the authority to kill him if necessary. Nevertheless, he wanted to say one more thing. "I've never heard of this 'Section Seven'!"

"Exactly." Agent Black answered the man, before turning to see that the "equipment" had arrived.

**Back behind the barricade... **

Edith, sitting against the upturned boxcar and cradling her son, was the first to notice the ground rumbling beneath her. She looked up to see that Barricade was still sending out the same message as he had for the past five minutes. "Can you feel that?" She asked him.

And then, in a most figurative sense... the world exploded.

_**BOOM**_

The boxcar shuddered violently, a fountain of fire and sparks erupting between the young woman and the kneeling robot, forcing them back. Edith instinctively attempted to shelter Alvin with her upper body, but Barricade was far more concerned with what was reaching his environment sensors. The bitter, sour stink of burning magnesium was everywhere, but there was also something else; a hint of the sweet, almost syrupy-sick odour that signalled rotting uranium.

Inspecting the place there the flame had come from, he found a hole that went clear through the roof and the floor of the car. Again looking over the steel structure, he saw what had made the hole.

'Oh... _Frag._'

A Bradley... the humans had a freaking _Bradley_, a vehicle one step down from a tank! And they'd only fired one shot... or burst. But in any case, if the auto cannon on that thing caught up with him, it'd chew him up bad, especially if the heat readings coming off that exit point were right. Right now he wished that Devastator had survived: he himself hadn't been built for this sort of prolonged standoff and that had been precisely the brawler's function. What he needed to do was get them out of here _now._.. but the lack of response from Starscream was making him both nervous and irritable.

"Surrender Now! We have you surrounded! You will be treated fairly by the courts but you must come..." This loudspeaker broadcast by one of the new detachment of armed personnel was cut short when an unaimed plasma round from the Decepticon hit a sedan and engulfed it in flames, sending the unarmed agents scrambling for better cover. Barricade immediately regretted his rash action as fire from the armoured men began hitting the line of boxcars.

He had an idea... and with impacts from sabot rounds slamming into the other boxcars, it was the only one he could think of.

"Edith Roberta McPherson?" Barricade barked at the shaken young woman, trying to gauge if she was all right. When she nodded and with Alvin giving off a healthy-sounding wail, he was slightly reassured. "Good. Follow me and when I say run, you run. _Do not stop, do not look back, do not hide, run_. Understood?" Edith gave another terrified nod and Barricade pressed his shoulder against the boxcar, using something he'd never thought he had: brute strength.

The boxcar began groaning again, and the armed men were not sure of what was happening... until the car began jolting up and down. The jolting was caused by the car hitting rails and being pushed over them... being pushed with increasing speed.

Being pushed... toward_ them_.

Armed agents retreated as fast as their legs could propel them, vaulting over vehicle hoods and out of the rail yard itself, shouting for everyone to fall back before the mobile boxcar slammed home. And slam it did, with the seemingly Unstoppable Force crushing automobiles before it and under it, only stopping as the Bradley proved the Immovable Object. When one end of the boxcar caught on the metal fighting-machine, the massive metal container swerved and came to a halt, heaved to one side by Barricade to conveniently provide some cover for Edith, Alvin and himself.

"RUN!!!" Barricade suddenly broke to the left, performed a spin, managed to fire a few shots at the human vehicles and then continued running, closely following his charges.

Edith, following the instructions given to her, ran. She didn't dare stop, trying to hide would have been pointless, and she was too afraid to even risk looking back. Her mind was nearly blank aside from the sensation of Alvin against her chest and the urge to simply run propelling her. She became so focused on running that she wasn't keeping track of where her feet were landing.

She certainly didn't notice the dislodged railway tie in front of her.

Her left foot hit the tie in mid-stride. She stumbled, she fell, the shoe dislodged itself from her foot... but she never hit the ground. Instead, she fell into the hand of herrobotic companion, who scooped her up and held her, cradled on his left arm, while he continued running. Eventually the sounds of the agents and vehicles were no longer audible and by the time Barricade stopped and let her down, they were in the courtyard formed by a few low buildings, seemingly safe from any pursuing ground vehicles.

Helicopters, however, were another story.

Two of the aerial platforms raced toward the courtyard, their searchlights already bathing the area in a stark contrast of harsh blue-white light and deep shadow, their rotors kicking up wind and dust. Barricade's first move was to put himself between the two craft and his charges, though that meant that Edith had to shelter between the robots' legs when the helicopters began circling around them. Trying to track both vehicles at once, Barricade made his left hand into a smaller-calibre, multi-shot cannon, hoping to pick out a good shot.

One of the helicopters seemed to slow for an instant, swinging it's exposed flank toward him. A whoosh of compressed air issued from the barrel as a projectile, attached to a trailing cable, flew forward to make contact with the Decepticons left arm. The harpoons primary function was not to puncture in the traditional manner, but to entrap with weighted tendrils, as happened when the six bolas-cables wrapped themselves around Barricade's elbow by force of inertia.

The master-cable snapped taut and, for the first time in a long, long time, Barricade felt panic. In the frenzied struggle to resist the pull of the tether and to stay upright, he was lucky that a second harpoon, fired by the second craft, missed his other arm. Old fears began rising in his spark, the memories of a thousand screams haunting him: cries for help and for absent mercy; not from his many Autobot victims, but from friends and comrades he had lost a lifetime ago, in a war that had planted the original seeds of Cybertrons destruction.

"_Don't let the fleshies take me!"_

After watching , helpless to intervene, as Prowl had been dragged off to nameless oblivion, Barricade had always vowed that he would never allow himself to suffer the same fate.

Grabbing the cable with his right hand and planting his footpads solidly in the dirt, Barricade heaved. The helicopter jerked, it's rotary motor straining as Barricade worked to pull the craft in like a fish on a line. Finally gaining enough slack on his left arm, Barricade aimed and fired once, twice, three times at the offending vehicle. The cockpit shattered, the rotor assembly spun off on its own, and the harpoon gun detached and clattered to he ground. Barricade immediately began working to try to tear the tangled cables off of his elbow joint.

The girl, on the other hand, was staring at the flaming wreck. Even though she had recently seen him rip out a wall and upend a boxcar, Edith hadn't truly appreciated what sort of carnage her apparent guardian would or could commit. But now, looking at the flaming wreck of the first helicopter and warily watching the second, she was beginning to come to the conclusion that this had much more to it than simply her getting her baby back. She was beginning to wonder what Barricade (and others like him, if they existed) _really_ wanted with her and Alvin.

Of course, on some level she already knew the answer.

The crew aboard the second helicopter had also reached a conclusion: namely, that stronger ordinance was needed. While NBE-6 tore the cables from it's arm, the gunner inserted a new type of harpoon into the launcher. Realizing that ensnaring the arms would be useless without another craft, the gunner aimed for the right leg. And whereas the first harpoon was only able to penetrate earth-standard armour, the new design had been specially developed for its' intended targets.

Just when Barricade had freed himself from the first harpoon, the third was fired. Instead of wrapping around his leg, the white hot tip pierced his right thigh in a burst of sparks, melting armour and gut-wrenching, femur-cracking pain. His damage sensors squealing, he collapsed on the leg, falling onto his back as the cable pulled taut and barbs on the harpoon hooked in. Forgetting the presence of his charges, he swung his left arm upward and began firing wildly at the helicopter.

The first shot hit the tail rotor while the third, fourth and seventh found their mark in the fuselage. Another fireball lit up the dark sky as the flaming wreck plunged to earth... and Barricade tried crawling to his feet, his single-shod charge holding her son as she looked on nervously.

With a mighty pull and a bout of intense pain, Barricade extracted the harpoon from his leg and flung it aside before flipping onto his chest. Although reduced to a dull throbbing (his damage sensors warning him that vital structures had been compromised), Barricade didn't trust his leg to support him... especially after his attempt to kneel on it ended in painful failure. The only option now was to try to transform and get out before the humans caught up with them.

When the sound of screeching tires and the floodlights hit him, Barricade realized that there was, now, nowhere to go.

"Stay behind me!" This was a warning for the girl to... well, to do what he said. Edith would have probably done this anyway but Barricade was in no mood to be nice to or to trust fleshlings right now, even if he was supposed to be protecting two of them. As for the approaching agents, with their weapons and their mist-sprayers (that registered as black on his infrared scanners), he only had two approaches: shoot and yell.

Barricade shot wildly at the approaching humans, throwing up dirt in explosions and cleanly vapourizing one mans head. While doing that, he screamed a number of "commands" at the humans, including STOP and DESIST. After the survivors of the initial wave retreated toward the vehicles, Barricade thought that he might just get out of this.

Unfortunately, the humans had one last trick up their collective sleeves.

Those armed agents left alive began arming themselves with strange and unfamiliar weapons. Resembling grenade launchers but with outsize, boxy magazines, these weapons were now being aimed squarely at the downed Decepticon.

"FIRE!!"

At the command of Agent Black, the weapons began launching strange projectiles at Barricade. Silver discs, measuring some 4 centimetres across flew by force of compressed gases until they latched onto the injured robot.

What they brought was pain: burning, itching, electrifying, 'thousand-fiery-needles-under-the-skin' _pain_. Barricade roared in agony as more and more of the devices clung to him, his damage sensors screaming in alarm or becoming a haze of burning static. His systems were registering truly massive amounts of physical damage... but from what he could comprehend through his optics, not even his gloss finish had been chipped. Through his screams and the gnawing, gnat-bite agony of the devices, he realized that they were trying to force him into stasis lock through psychosomatic pain... or make him blow out his own central processor, whichever came first.

But that was no reason why he couldn't still fight...

Barricade again began firing wildly, giving no thought to aim nor strategy, only wishing to hold off the end though sheer chaos. The humans had been planning for this, and several well-aimed sabot rounds from normal grenade launchers ripped though his cannon and lower arm, leaving nothing but a ragged, glowing stump.

Now _that_ was real pain. He held the stump to his chest, trying to ignore the pain by grinding his dental plates together, trying to think of something else to do. That exercise ended when a disc attached to the side of his head, eliciting a harsh scream from him.

Edith McPherson, to put it mildly, had been though much in the last twelve hours, to say nothing of the last twelve days or even the last twelve months. The stress of trying to soothe her son though a police chase that had lasted half the day, the struggle to properly attend to him in that time, the noise, the sirens, the lights, the explosions, and her own fright had all taken their toll on her emotional state. Now, looking at her guide, her companion during this whole experience, writhing in agony and with her helpless to intervene, her own empathy as a sentient being was also now added to that tally.

There is a limit to how much stress each person can withstand before they snap... and Edith had just exceeded hers.

"STOP!!" Running from the shadows behind Barricade into the harsh blue glare of the vehicle headlights, still clutching Alvin in her arms, screaming her lungs out in what sounded like emotional agony, the girl must have seemed quite the spectacle to the agents. "STOP!!!" Edith screamed, practically in tears, unable to withstand the stress or hold back her emotions any longer.

The shower of discs stopped and all weapons fell silent. Barricade, supporting himself on his elbows, still barely conscious from the regular pulses of pain the discs emitted, turned his head toward Edith. _'What did the little meatbag think she was doing?! She's disobeyed a direct order and now the operation's all shot to slag!'_

And thus men started coming toward them again. Armed with mist nozzles and automatic weapons, the sight of them began to register in Edith's tired brain as a very bad thing which _she_ had, in some way, brought about. She knew that they would take Alvin away from her, she suspected they would take Barricade apart to back-engineer spaceships or something and as for herself... right now she didn't know and she didn't care. All she knew was that she _could not _let them catch her or Alvin.

She began retreating into the space underneath Barricades body, and, for decades to come, Barricade would wonder exactly how _it_ had happened. Maybe Edith had turned a little too quickly near an armour plate or perhaps he himself moved in some way, but what was confirmed is that some part of Alvins exposed skin (most likely his head or face) came in contact with Barricade.

At that instant, Alvin's still-blue eyes turned... _bluer._ There would simply be no other way to describe it.

The silver discs detached from Barricade, clattering to the ground.

Barricade, sure that death (or worse) was near at hand, suddenly felt the most remarkable sensation: the pain disappeared, replaced by a soothing, cooling wave of energy as his sensors returned to normal: normal readings, normal structural integrity... and looking at his arm, that was only the bonus for Barricade.

The armed men were almost upon them when the unexpected happened: the robot stood up... and pointed his gun at them.

Another wave of men fell or retreated as Barricade blasted at them with his light cannon, his right arm transforming onto a heavy cannon to fire at the arrayed vehicles. The men at the back lines barely ready when they heard the second sign of their imminent demise.

A sonic boom heralded the arrival of an F-22 coming in curiously low. Barricade took his as a sign to retreat and did so, scooping up his charges and retreating while the agents were in the midst of panic... and death, as four air-to-ground missiles slammed into the parked convoy.

With the fire of the impacts in the background, Barricade let Edith and Alvin down in an alley a little ways from the courtyard. Quickly he transformed and beckoned for the humans to enter, which they did. Inside, the supplies were jumbled and in some cases crushed, but at least Alvin had stopped crying and was falling asleep. Edith, however, could not help but stare at his eyes as they began closing, as they began returning to their normal colour.

She knew that there was only one reason that human eyes could look like that... and she knew Arrakis was fictional.

Back at the site of the bombings, a moth had been drawn by the light of the flames. As it fluttered hear the ground, it became especially attracted to a shiny, round object lying on the ground. It landed on the disc... and, in a flurry of movement, was promptly _eaten_ by it.

The Water of Life need not always be wet, after all.


	10. The Truth of a Thousand Lies

**Transformers: Starscream Ascendant**

**Chapter 10**

Disclaimer: I own nothing and I make no profit form this work. All characters and places are the properties of their creators or patent holders: the statement is getting a bit old but it does keep the lawyers happy. I'd like to thank the sci-fi channel separately for the Dune Miniseries. The hats were ridiculous and some of the desert backdrops looked right out of a grade-school play but it did give the world the scaly sand worm.

Authors Note: Man, did this one take a long time! This is my chance to flesh out what I think happened before and during the Cybertronian Civil War. There's also some clues as to the root of Barricades Motto: "To Punish and Enslave"

Summary: There was much that Optimus... _omitted_ about the history of Cybertron, and Starscream will not jeopardize the trust between him and this wayward pair of potential allies by lying. But the Truth is a strange beast, after all...

**4:55 AM Local Time, Saturday, June 21st 2008**

**Quay Road 59, New Mexico side of the Texas State Line**

In the last twenty-four hours, Edith hadn't gotten much sleep and now she was absolutely revelling in it. With Alvin in her arms (the infant safety seat had cracked all up one side during the battle), she slept in the passengers seat, leaning against the locked door and snoring as only the blissfully unconscious could.

Barricade, conversely, was racing his mind as he drove through the grey pre-dawn landscape.

How did Starscreams quote from the Book of Primus go again?

_'And Lo, the Font of Souls shall be consumed in the fire of it's own power; and in the aftermath will be reborn in a land distant: reborn in a shell of water and soft metals.'_

Yep, that was it.

He'd long ago lost any confidence in religion and had never believed in arcane prophecies. After the missionaries from Tyger Pax had shattered his clans faith in the Makers by rubbing their true nature in their faces, nothing had seemed worthy to replace that sort of reverence, not even their words of a great 'Cube' on some distant world.

But here he was, alive and whole. And the little bag of organs that he was responsible for... was _responsible_ for it.

And if what Starscream was telling him _was right_...

Barricade caught himself before he completed the thought. He had already figured out that, besides being a politician and an utter sneak, Starscream had one other personality characteristic that made him extremely dangerous: fanaticism. It also had to be remembered that the only reason he was doing this was to stay alive and, if possible, satiate his new curiosity in regards to these Humans.

Then, perhaps, he could begin searching for the Little One that Soundwave had sworn him to carry. For all the inconvenience, chaos and chattering insanity that Frenzy had caused him, he was still a reminder to Barricade of simpler, even _happy_ times, memories of which the Decepticon still held close to his spark.

Edith finally awoke and noticed that the ride was getting slower and bumpier. This was because Barricade had driven off the road and into the desert itself, heading for some unspecified point.

The car stopped and the passenger door unlocked when they reached a dim patch of scrub desert, far from the road. Still holding her son, Edith opened the door and stepped out into the grey light, treading lightly on her shoe-less left foot, unsure of what would happen.

What did happen is that an F-22 fighter jet, the _same_ F-22 that had saved them from capture, began circling over the site, it's engines sounding like constant thunder. Then, low to the ground and in front of them, the craft simply cut its engines and began to drop out of the sky, tumbling... twisting... shifting its mass... changing its shape. With earthquake force, it slammed into the desert on two digigrade legs and rose to look at her with two glowing blue eyes.

Edith began backing away from the apparition in fear as it approached her, its every step booming, its sheer size intimidating her. Finally stopping against the legs of a transformed Barricade, she stared at the figure towering over her and briefly wondered if this was what the whole 'Angel and Shepherds' incident was like before it was prettied up for posterity.

The being crouched down, putting it's face only a few feet from Edith. "Are you Edith Roberta McPherson, Daughter of Jeffery and Emer McPherson?" It asked in a strangely organic, almost nasal-sounding voice.

"Yeah." The answer was hesitant and weak, unlike her initial reply to Barricade. Of course, right now she had none of the adrenaline or high-strung emotions that she had possessed then, having practically burned herself out just hours before. "You?"

"I am Starscream, Commander of the Decepticon Armada. The one behind you is Barricade, the helmsman for our starship and one of our scouts. We are mineral-based sentient beings from the planet Cybertron... and we are but two among many." Barricade seemed to snort derisively at this but other than staring at him for a fraction of a second , Starscream ignored it.

"Alright..." Edith began, slowly becoming less intimidated. "But... _why me_? Why here?"

"We seek to return life to our broken world. To do this,we need to find the Allspark, the source of our life force. However..." Starscream looked at the young woman appraisingly "It would take far too long to adequately explain the entire situation. But to be able to _see_ it..." This was another step in the plan: If the girl could identify with their plight, she'd be more likely to agree to their plan.

That just meant getting _everyone else_ to go along with it.

Starscream raised his hand to the side of his face, and suddenly beams of light shot from his eyes, causing... Edith couldn't really believe _her_ eyes. Where once there was open desert under a grey sky was now a vast cityscape of shining crystalline towers under green clouds, a sunrise-pink sky and a distant blue sun.

It was quite possibly the most breathtaking thing she had ever seen.

Although her alien companions had disappeared, she could still hear Starscream narrating.

_Our planet was once the capital of a vast empire, rich with resources and tremendous in its influence. For millions upon millions of years our society flourished under the rule of the Primes, elected autocrats stretching back to the first planetary leader. However, as with all empires, we over-extended, and under Nova Prime met with the greatest foreign threat we had ever faced._

Somewhere in this city, an explosion sounded. And then another. And another. Edith began seeing blue-black trails of smoke rise above the towers and began to hear more sounds of war.

Suddenly, Edith was thrust into the middle of a battle zone. Heat-driven winds howled in her ears. Smoke and ash filled the air as bipedal robots, who Edith assumed were the same species as Barricade and Starscream, fired small-bore energy weapons at greenish points of light in the distance while taking shelter behind chunks of crystal. Even though the smoke didn't really exist, the utter realism of the illusion compelled her to want to close her eyes and cover Alvin with the jacket she wore.

That compulsion only increased when the specks of light began firing back that the robots; green beams of energy searing and burning their way through rubble and robot alike. Nightmarish, multi-limbed war-machines shambled out of the smoke, spots on the chassis glowing sickly green and whip -thin tentacles thrashing in the air.

_The Quintessons had already established for themselves a reputation for being brutal and merciless conquerors when we first encountered them, but none of us could have dared predict that they would strike so far into our territory as Cybertron itself. In their wake they left nothing: no slaves taken to work their factories, no corpses of our slain people left on the field... only screaming prisoners dragged off to indescribable horror. The attack on out world, though it lasted only two of your years, cost the lives of countless numbers of our people. And, although untold numbers of our bravest warriors perished, new heroes emerged. Among these were a young reactor-engineer who would come to be called Optimus..._

As the shambling machines advanced, one passed over a patch of small-particulate rubble. Suddenly, that patch burst upward as a Cybetronian, noticeably larger than the others, launched itself out of the ground and grabbed hold of one of the legs. The walker didn't have time to react before the robot's other hand morphed into a sword blade and stabbed upward, slicing the tall cylindrical body nearly in half. Shoving the flailing shell aside, 'Optimus' turned his sights on another walker, transformed his grasping hand into a large energy cannon and blew a hole clean through its chassis, causing it to explode

_...and a combat scout for the Exploration Corps, called Megatron._

On what Edith assumed was the same battlefield, another large Cybertronian was being dragged off by several walkers. Even with his hands grabbing hold of boulders and his digits scrabbling in the soil, he was clearly losing the fight. Tendril after tendril wrapped around his legs, one even ensnaring his arm so he couldn't fire at them.

Where before death had come from below, it now came from above. The sound of jet engines filled the air as two walkers were suddenly bowled over when an utterly alien aircraft crashed into them. The craft suddenly hit the ground and... _transformed _into yet another large Cybertronian, but one unlike the others. _This one_... where the others had been utilitarian with blunt fingers and relatively simple body design, the one Edith assumed was Megatron was all sharp edges and grasping claws, his face a perpetual snarl with piercing eyes and sharp teeth.

As Edith witnessed Megatron swing one of the damage walkers around like a mace to destroy the others, she suddenly understood that this was a person... _being_ that was operating on pure rage. This was made even more clear when the illusionary Megatron finally ripped one of the walkers open, pulled out a squirming, screeching alien that looked to be one part squid, one part deep-sea starfish and several more parts Lovecraftian Horror and then casually crushed it in his hand. 

_The planet was eventually saved, and though Nova Prime was killed, friendships and loyalties were formed that last until this very day. A new Prime was elected, the position of Lord High Protector was created to be co-ruler, we learned how to morph into better weapons and vehicles to fight with... and eons later, the war ended with an assault as sudden and disruptive to the Quintessons as their first strike had been to us._

Now Edith was somewhere utterly different. She was standing on a high ledge at the outskirts of a massive rock outcropping. Beyond the rocks were dunes of grayish-white sand as far as she could see and a black, starry sky above her. And beside her was Barricade, only he looked... different. He still had his red eyes, but most of the rest of his body was covered by angular ceramic plates, as grey and gritty as the sand. Behind him, others were standing on the rock or at cave entrances, all of them with red eyes and in similar plates. Like the others, Barricade was looking to the sky, and when Edith turned to look, she saw what appeared to be hundreds of meteorites falling from orbit and crashing into the desert.

_On the dark, desolate world of Chak, once an important energy reserve for the Cybertronian Empire, the Quintessons had established a massive factory complex to supply their war machine. Its destruction would mean a quick and clean end to the war while it's continued operation threatened to drag out the conflict even longer. So, we did what any responsible, humane people would do... we went in and trashed the place._

The scene on the sand below had shifted, a sprawling grid of dark industrial buildings sitting inside a vast crater that was half-filed with sand. She noticed that Barricade was missing again.

Three seconds later, so was most of the cliff below her.

A truly massive explosion rocked the entire scene, the flare reminding Edith of stock footage of atomic explosions... meaning without the noise or the heat of the real thing. Now she was on the very edge of a sharp drop where... _millions_ of tons of rock must have been simply obliterated. Whether dust from the explosion or from some sort of storm, a huge cloud of white dust was surging into the crater and blanketing the facility. In fact, everything about the sight could be described as simply _big_.

From then on, the rest of the battle flashed around her in a series of images with her never being sure where she was. A squadron of fighter craft surged out of the storm to attack the defending forces, with one, recognizable as her narrator, even morphing in mid-air to perform intense aerial acrobatics as he ripped, shot and wrestled Quintesson fighters out of the sky. On the ground, Cybertronian warriors rode into the crater on the backs of huge, narrow, silver-scaled blobs, each holding 50 or so 'men'. Holding on to scale-segments with long hooks formed from their forearms, the Cybertronians were barely holding on while red-eyed, grit-plated 'locals' were holding on and even steering as if they had been doing it all their lives.

This was so much like a cheap sci-fi miniseries that it wasn't even funny.

But it was still pretty neat.

The "worms" (or possibly slugs), now nine in total, suddenly jerked to a stop in front of the facility. Leaping off, the Cybertronians charged toward the advancing Quintesson ground forces. The blue-eyed Homeworlders, with only a few exceptions, fired all their various weapons at the approaching walkers and other vehicles, while the red-eyed natives, including Barricade, preferred more physical weapons such as blades and flails in their assaults on the enemy. The most fantastic thing, however, was that each silver mass began to dissolve into thousands of small, metallic beings... beings that automatically skittered toward the advancing Quintessons and began attacking them with lunatic abandon.

_With our numbers and with native help, we won the day despite the deaths of Sentinel Prime and High Protector Oxmaris... but we made a gruesome discovery. A discovery that would split our already fractured society and lead us on the path to civil war._

Two airborne Cybertronians, whom Edith recognized as Megatron and the one he had rescued, dropped into an alley between two factories. Emerging into a wider thoroughfare, Megatron morphed one of his claws into a spiked flail and swung wildly at the various buildings and machinery, while his companion fired waves of destructive blue energy that burned and exploded everything in their path. By this time, the others had penetrated into the facilities and were in the process of hunting down survivors or destroying enemy equipment.

One thing that struck Edith was that Megatrons eyes, having been blue in his last appearance, were now the dark red of the native population.

Megatron bashed open a door to one of the central factories and charged inside, with others following in his wake. What they saw inside made them all stop and stare in shock.

All besides Megatron, who began looking even more enraged.

The scene changed.

A leg joint from a Quintesson walker skidded across the smooth floor of a vast council chamber. Sitting on crowded benches on the sloped walls of the chamber, thousands of Cybertronians were looking down at the scene, where Megatron, standing at the head of a group of warriors and with the same flier at his right shoulder, was confronting the new Prime.

Edith and Alvin were now among those thousands.

"_We cannot allow our enemy to escape judgement! What I saw in that pit erases any doubt of their intentions toward us! Prime... Brother... all you need to do is have this alloy analyzed by a medic and it will prove that the Quintessons truly **are** the monsters I thought them to be!"_ Megatron made his impassioned plea to the Cybertronian leadership, the leader of which was Optimus, obviously the new "Prime". The strange thing about this speech was that, while it was imploring, there was nothing threatening about it. Despite his ferocious looks, Edith saw none of the malice that one would expect from his previous actions. Also strange was that, while he was clearly speaking in the trilling warble that was their language, there were English subtitles provided... and she knew that this never happened in real life.

Optimus turned his head to look at another Cybertronian standing on his left and motioned for him to come forward. This one, a medic with thick jowls, did so and proceeded to elementally test the metal part via some sort of laser beam... _thing _that sprouted from his wrist. "_There are trace particles of Chakan Pan-dust on the surface: probably residue from the casting process. As to the alloy itself, the surface is plated with Selarkium, an anti-radiation material imported from their space. That still doesn't explain the durability, but..._" The Medic probed deeper with the scan, but suddenly his face morphed into a mask of shocked horror. "_Prime... 90 percent of the core is comprised of Cybertronian skeletal alloy! They've been using our casualties as raw material for their industry!_"

This little piece of exposition caused the entire chamber to flare in anger, with denunciations and demands coming from nearly all corners. Most of them were variants on "_Send the Beasts to Hell_" and "_Slag the fleshies_". Only after turning over the label of that particular metal a few times in her head did the enormity of the revelation finally hit Edith... wherein she felt an uneasiness in the pit of her stomach that hadn't been there since September.

Megatron was smirking, as if amused that Prime finally knew what he did _"It is much worse than that, Prime. Not only have the Quintessons been melting down the bodies of our dead for use as scrap, already a sacrilege of the most vile order, but they've been sucking the energy out of living sparks! Draining our souls to power their batteries! Treating us as nothing more than malfunctioning pieces of equipment!"_ Megatron suddenly turned toward the assembled audience, his arms spread wide. _"Our organic allies are of the opinion that the Quintessons are fit only for oblivion: as vermin to be exterminated for the good of the universe!" _

The roars of approval were almost deafening, but then Megatron motioned for silence. _"This, I fear, is a grave misjudgement. Would not the enemies industrial base and research facilities, their raw resources and their shipping routes, not be better utilized to help repair the damage inflicted on our civilization, on our **people**? Thus, I move that all Quintesson population and industry be drafted into our service as reparation for crimes against the Cybertronian Empire!"_

It was a convincing argument, Edith had to admit: pragmatic, industrious and much more lenient than the supposed alternative. However, Edith had her own issues with purely pragmatic arguments and could not help but think of situations not long past in her own life. The rest of the crowd obviously approved, murmuring positively among themselves in their own little political clutches.

However, the one being that had not been heard from now spoke his piece. This piece was not nearly so positive.

"_Brother... are you suggesting that we violate our oldest and most sacred of codes in the name of efficiency? Does Megatron the Bold now suggest enslavementof an entire civilization?" _She had not yet heard Optimus speak, but now she had an idea of just why he had been declared Prime. There was a... a _gravitas_ (yes, that's the word) and an almost unearthly sense of thoughtfulness in his voice that had suddenly brought the entire chamber to rapt silence.

Megatron finally broke this silence, his voice bristling with barely-contained anger. _"I am suggesting that it may be the best offer that the Quintessons will get. And as to Scripture, I do not think that..."_ He did not get to finish his rebuttal, as new murmuring had erupted in the crowd standing behind him. To his left was an angry-looking hunchback, and to _his_ left was a crowd of (relatively short) grit-plated robots from Chak, Barricade among them. Another Cybertronian was coming through the crowd, with the Chakans giving him a wide berth and bowing their heads in reverence.

This one too appeared to be of their type, yet was... _different_. Not only was he significantly taller than his fellows, but his plates were more intricate, smoother and much more concealing than theirs. Beaded chains and thin cables held the plates together compared to their more rugged fastening implements while tiny, iridescent blue crystals formed beads on threads dangling from the plates or were embedded upon them in mosaic patterns. Whatever he was, he probably wasn't a warrior like the others.

Coming up to Megatrons left shoulder, the apparition moved to unfasten the cords holding its faceplate on. The mouth that was revealed below his long red visor reminded Edith of the mandibles of some herbivorous insect, but it spoke just as well as the others. _"I seek permission to speak an addendum in thy presence, Lord Prime."_ The very idea that a supposed foreigner (and a 'savage' besides) was speaking Old Cybertronian so fluently and formally was a novelty to this crowd, and would have been entertaining if not for the severity of this assembly.

"_Thou may speaketh freely, but the Prime requests thy designation." _Optimus spoke in the same archaic dialect, indicating that not only was he a good speaker, but that he was also well educated.

"_I am Soundwave, Journeyman Anthropologist for the Exploration Corps." _Now that the flowery anachronisms were gone, Soundwave was plainly identified as a Homeworlder and thus taken more seriously than a mere curiosity. _"Prime... I have studied many organic societies during my training, and I am of the opinion that the Quintessons barely qualify as one. They have no art, little civilian culture besides basic education and their industry is geared toward ongoing, nonstop expansion. Not to mention that, due to the mass-rearing of their tadpoles, there is little in the way of formal family identification. In sort, the Quintessons seem to be... less a civilization than a **swarm**. In these circumstances, I do not believe it would place undo burden on the defeated to focus their energies on reparation." _Soundwave finished, but he did not perform the reverent nod of the head, as was tradition. Instead, he kept facing the Prime, as if trying to read what Optimus would do.

What Optimus did next was surprising, to say the least. _"It seems... that the options are slim" _The Prime looked strained to say this, but regrouped as he began addressing the Assembly. _"The first and foremost duty of the Prime is to ensure the survival of Cybertron and its people. However, it is also our duty to embody the ideals of the First 12. On this occasion, it appears that both may be met: our survival by making use of our enemies industry, and our ideals by treating them mercifully in the face of calls for their extermination. In this, the motion to retool Quintesson industrial capacity for reparation purposes are approved. So is the will of the Prime as borne down from Primus."_ The closing remark was a traditional ritual of authority for a Prime, recited countless times for every official declaration by every leader.

However, Soundwave had sensed something in Optimus; some uncertainty, some... sense of _weakness_ that he could exploit. And now he had an opening. _"May a new motion be presented before this assembly, my Prime?" _Soundwave stepped forward, past Megatron, as he asked.

Prime, for his part, was unsuspecting. _"The motion is carried. You may speak."_

Soundwave made his move. _"It is abundantly clear to me, esteemed delegates, that the leadership of __Cybertron is incomplete. That is not to say that the Prime has been insufficient in his duties... but only to say that there must be balance within our leadership: pragmatism and idealism, science with religion and war with peace. Therefore I move for the position of Lord High Protector to be permanently established... and I officially nominate Megatron for the position, in light of his ideas for war reparations."_

No one could have been prepared for this, least of all Megatron. But the idea, slowly, began to gain some traction. By the time the scene began to blur, there were cheering shouts from the more waggish elements of the assembly, shouts of "Punish!" and "Enslave!" in the style of political slogans.

"In time, Megatron became very popular amongst rank-and-file war veterans for his pragmatism and his suspicion toward organic species. As High Protector, he did rule wisely beside Prime for a while: a Yin to a Yang, his harsh pragmatism offsetting Primes blind idealism, his xenophobic suspicion against dreams of Galaxy-wide cooperation. The name his followers eventually took for themselves even referenced the martyr Decepticus, renowned for his suspicious nature." Starscream had been beside her throughout the assembly, but only now did he speak directly to her.

"_But_..." Starscream seemed to hesitate. "as the millennia wore on, subtle signs of trouble began cropping up. Suspicion turned to outright _hatred_ of organics, and eventually of anyone weaker than himself. Pragmatism gave way to grand, even insane dreams of violent expansion in the style of Nova Prime. And whereas before, Megatron had taken on the mantle of leadership with great hesitance, an insatiable lust for power began to overtake and consume him, with him even hungering after the most Holy of Holies: the Allspark itself." The Assembly Rotunda was gone, along with the attendants, replaced with yet another battlefield.

"Thus began the War..."

This time, the war was not between Cybertronians and squid-things, but between themselves. Robots with blue optics fought a staying action against red-eyed behemoths. They had the eyes, but these were not the small, agile desert fighters that she recalled. _These_ were massive bipedal war-machines, decked out with missile launchers, plasma cannons and sharp claws... and the most offsetting thing was that she remembered some of them from the assault on the factory, when they all had blue optics.

"_The civil war engulfed our empire; reducing entire planets to ash and glass, annihilating any organic species that dared intervene. Cybertron lay in ruins, and just when things could not possibly become darker... they did."_

Now Edith (and Alvin, naturally) were in some sort of immense temple dome. At the very least, it probably _had_ been a dome at one time, but with the crystalline roof now shattered and in shards all over the floor, it was hard to tell. The inner 50% of the circular floor consisted of a deep pit, and floating above the pit...

Edith could not believe what she was seeing. Save for the outrageous size differential (the thing was frigging _huge_), the Cube with it's glossy black sides and strange markings was... just as she remembered it.

"_The battle for the temple-city of Tyger Pax lasted three of your years, with Megatron personally leading the last, brutal charge to capture the Allspark. Prime's loyalists held off as long as possible, hoping to smuggle the object off-planet. And , in the end, it did leave... but it did so under its own power."_

Now a whine of engines could be heard, and the young woman looked up to see an aircraft dive into the dome. As soon as it transformed into Starscream and landed, a blinding flash of blue light lit the ruined space. Crackling arcs of blue energy emanated from the great cube, flashing outward and into the deep pit below. The arcs just kept increasing, getting more powerful, brighter and more focused as they arced and flashed against the bottom of the pit.

Then the Cube began to launch like a rocket, slowly at first but steadily accelerating, through the broken dome and into the dark sky, leaving a tail of blue energy in its wake.

On the outskirts of the city, Megatron had just torn something out of the neck of a small loyalist soldier that had been brought before him. Suddenly, all optics were fixed on a point in the sky. Megatron swerved to look... and in that moment, he lost all interest in everything else. Dropping the mangled organ, he transformed and streaked after the Cube, both of them disappearing into the sky.

The sky... as she watched the fading image, Edith realized that the sky was much lighter now... the world around her was returning to normal. The craggy battlefield was gone, replaced by the scrub of the New Mexico desert, now lit by a rising sun in the east.

"Megatron followed the Allspark like a being possessed. When it crashed on this planet, he was so careless in his pursuit that he allowed your magnetic field to blind his sensors, sending him careening into the arctic ice. For three thousand years he lay frozen in an enforced stasis lock... until your government, in it's infinite wisdom, dug him out and placed him not nine hundred feet from the object of his lust with only a fragile cryogenic system to protect themselves from him." In th light of dawn, Edith could see Starscream much more clearly: not too different from the image in the illusion, but still utterly alien with a bestial face, ape-like arms and his vaguely avian legs.

After realizing that her mouth had been hanging open since the cliff blew up and crudely wiping the dribble from her jaw with her denim-clad shoulder, Edith realized that there had to be more to the story; a last chapter at the very least. "What happened then?"

"Several of our remaining leadership caught wind that Prime and the last of his loyalists were close to finding the Allspark. They tracked down the location of the Cube and, learning that Megatron was interred there as well, insisted on freeing him." Starscream let his optics dim and his head bow before raising it again and subtly shaking it. "The downtown core of Mission City was torn to pieces in the ensuing battle. Prime and his human allies tried to keep the Cube out of Megatrons grasp, but so manic was his desire that only the seeming destruction of the Allspark, along with Megatron and three of his most fanatical followers, finally ended the battle."

"Alright, but you didn't answer my first question: _why me_?" Edith had to know, as she was beginning to get a bit nervous about why these beings had done so much in her service.

"It is as I said: the Allspark was believed destroyed during the battle. However, the long-range sensors on our starship began detecting some interesting energy patterns shortly after the battle." Starscream cocked his head to one side. "Tell me, Ms. McPherson, has anything..." He waved his hand about airily. "_strange_ ever happened to you?"

Edith wondered on the question and then, looking down at her right hand as she flexed it a bit, decided that if there was ever a time to finally tell someone about _it_, that time was now.

Edith looked up to face Starscream. "You guys are going to think I'm crazy, but..."

So they listened. And Starscream began to lay out a plan.


	11. Cogs in Something Turning

**Transformers: St**arsc**ream Ascendant**

**Chapter 11**

Disclaimer: I don't own a thing... OC's perhaps, but even then, not likely.

Summary: Miles discovers the destruction wrought on his mates' behalf, Simmons and Lennox are confronted with Executive Meddling, Ratchet unearths traces of a disturbing development and Optimus receives word of a possible turning point in the conflict. However, everyone sees that the tension is mounting...

A/N: I was considering a continual elevation of the tension between Sam and Miles, but I decided to let Sam tone it down and lay out some of his larger concerns. He's just as tired of the argument as the reader (and author) is, after all.

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**8:35 AM Local Time, Saturday, June 21st 2008**

**Amarillo, Texas**

Civilians of all kinds crushed against police barricades outside the Amarillo Rail yard. Neighbours, tradesmen, yard-workers, the press and all kinds of curious onlookers were there, demanding to know what had happened in the early morning.

In the frenzy to catch a glimpse of the site (already impossible because of the white fabric shades surrounding the investigation scene) the crowds missed a chance to see several vehicles entering the cordon. Among the vehicles were 3 black Denali Envoys, a large Peterbilt Truck, a GMC Top-kick, a modified Hummer and a yellow, late-model Camero.

Inside these vehicles, their occupants looked on in horror as they passed by the signs of the nights battle. The remains of a car smouldered. Other black cars had been crushed under the bulk of an upturned boxcar, which itself was only stopped after being partially jack-knifed around a small tank. After the vehicles parked and people began exiting them, Miles Lancaster continued to sit in Ironhides back seat for a minute, thinking.

'What could possibly have initiated this sort of destruction?' would have normally been the primary thought in the young mans head... _should_ have been the primary thought in this instance. But it was not. Miles was worrying about a great many other things at this point: how badly his parents would freak when they found out and how Sam could be so shallow as to obsess on matters of legality when Edith and Alvin could themselves be in mortal peril were among these. But his biggest worry was for the well-being of the two aforementioned fugitives: his mate and his son. Was Edith alright? Was she being forced, coerced, even _tricked_ by these Decepticon-things that Sam had gone spastic about? Could she take adequate care of Alvin? And what about Alvin? Was he hungry, cold, scared? Was he coming down with something? Was he hurt?

Was he even _still alive_?

The ascent up the cliffs of worry came upon a plateau of rational reflection. He hadn't even _met_ the kid and already he was acting like... like a nervous father! How could you worry so much over a person you'd never seen before?

_Hey, you're nervous and you're his father. I think that gives you the right to act the part._

Well, maybe he did have that right.

Miles finally opened the door and got out of the back seat after watching his friends get out and observe the chaos before them. As Bumblebee began transforming, the young man began surveying the scene. Besides the mess by the gate to the yard, there was the utter carnage before him. In the background, two wrecked helicopters were still smoking and in the mid-ground...

It was as if the War in South Asia had been pushed right into his face. Twisted, blackened shells of automobiles lay scattered before him and his friends. Four (at least) craters dotted the ground and white sheets covered what were obviously dead humans.

Miles looked to the left, where Optimus had released the trailer he had been hauling and stood to survey the damage. Beside the Prime, Ratchet once again shoved Frenzy's cage out onto the ground before he himself transformed. Ironhide transformed after Lennox got out, moving up to inspect the site. It was then that Sam and Mikaela walked over to Miles... though in Sam's case, _charged _would have been more accurate.

"Miles.. look around you. People have _died_ because of this! Do you actually think that Edith won't face any repercussions after she..." Sam was mad and eager to prove a point as he spoke into his friend from behind him.

But Miles caught onto the train of thought that he believed that Sam was obviously on. "What, Sam? After she caused all this damage? It's like I told the bald dude: she wouldn't hurt a fly! Even if she wanted to, how could she cause something like _this_? You think she can wiggle her nose and explode a car? That she can kill with the nod of her head?" He turned back to his old friend. "Whatever she did, this wasn't a part of it..." Miles sighed. "but now I'm getting nervous as to why this happened. I just want to find out what the hell is going on."

"Alright, she couldn't do _this_; but what about answering for a kidnapping charge? When an Amber Alert is put up, people always assume the worst: ransomers, crazies, sickos, stuff like that." Sam was beginning to feel as if he had to deescalate the situation and changed tactics. "It's not that I doubt she has a _reason_... if all else fails, she can plead insanity; it's just that I'm... _concerned_. Even if Edith had a good reason to take your son, she's caught in an _extremely_ dangerous crowd. I don't want you or her to get hurt, _especially_ you! Just... be careful, alright?"

Miles, somewhat surprised (and touched) by his friends sudden and semi-articulate rationale, was glad for him having said that. "Alright Sam, careful it is. But I need to find out why and how this all went down." Miles suddenly turned and began following Lennox, Simmons and Banachek toward the site.

_He said your son! See?!_

Sam, for his part, was happy that he had articulated his worries in a way that had not triggered another argument and for that, he only had one person to thank. "You know, that was easier than I thought it would be."

"You mean accepting the possibility that his old girlfriend may not be a malicious party or admitting to yourself that you've been acting like an utter prick?" Mikaela asked her boyfriend in a tone that, while serious, held a hint of ironic amusement.

Sam looked at the retreating back of his friend's head. "I meant actually saying what I felt without... well, without letting either of those things cloud my judgement." He turned back toward Mikaela. "I know I've been obsessing on Edith being classed as a criminal and I know that it's ridiculous... but I was too concerned that Miles would get hurt to care about anything else. " Sam paused for a moment. "Thanks for talking me down."

"No problem... I guess everyone has to get a grounding in rationality now and then." Mikaela had solved one problem... and with Prime working on a rescue plan on the chance that this was a double kidnapping, she hoped Sam would be a bit more tactful in attempting to "solve" the other... being Miles and his desire to rectify the situation.

Meanwhile, the G-men inspected the scene, with three in particular busy trying to figure out just who had put this failed ambush together. Major Lennox had just gotten off the phone. "Epps says that radar picked up a mystery plane last night over Amarillo. They tracked it west until it dropped off the screen somewhere near the border; I think we can safely assume who that was." Technical Sergeant Robert Epps had been given the task of overseeing all Cybertronian movement in American Airspace. This was a very formal way of saying that he was in charge of tracking and finding the airborne half of the Mission City escapees.

"Alright, so they're heading west, but that still doesn't explain who authorized all this equipment!" Simmons, to put it mildly, was pissed and confused. No one had told him that helicopters had been sent out. No one had told him that they were signing out a Bradley for this job. And absolutely no one had _deigned_ to inform to him that the use of Sabot rounds had been authorized, an order which should have been run through him before anyone else. Someone was jerking him around, and the sooner he found out who it was, the less likely it was that he'd... hold the damn phone!

"_**Black**_? Black, is that you?!" Simmons had seen a very familiar face, and was now rushing over to a stretcher in a primitive med centre. Laying on the stretcher was a Caucasian male whose blond crew-cut was obscured by a pressure bandage. This was Matthew Black, late of Sector Seven... and currently hyped up on painkillers.

"Simmons you old Brooklyn bastard, what brings you out here?" Black tried to be cheerful but the drugged numbness, the residual pain and the memories of last night left this mangled mess of a man unable to marshal up any real cheer.

"_Me?_ I'm _tracking_ this thing! The question is: what are **you** doing here? The last I heard you were being shunted off to some closet in the Pentagon!" Simmons was now getting angry: Black had been one of his best hatchet-men during the years of tracking any sign of NBE activity. Most of the heavy equipment used in the capture process had his prints somewhere on the design... so if Black was here, why hadn't _he_ been informed of all this?

"My badge is in my pants pockets, you'll get your answers there." Simmons retrieved the wallet and examined the badge... and upon doing so, had the proverbial cow.

"_S__**ECTION**__ SEVEN_??!!" Simmons practically screamed in outrage "They got the Team back together, _ without telling me_, and **this **was the best name they could come up with?!"

"What I want to know is who authorized this! The President ordered it disbanded... so who reorganized it? The Supreme Court, the House, the Senate... who had the authority?" Lennox had been conditioned to believe the office of POTUS as supreme, so the thought that someone may have overruled him... or that he may have reneged and not informed them, was unsettling.

It was then that Banachek was handed a clipboard containing information that made the situation much more clear. "Read this." He passed the clipboard to Lennox, who just starred at it in shock, Then Simmons grabbed it.

"The _VICE-PRESIDENT_?!" Simmons was.. aghast... but then he came to his senses. "Of course. After all, who else wears the pants in this Administration?" The rhetorical question was deadpan and serious but Miles, being only a few yards from the group, could not help but chuckle at the remark.

That was a mistake.

Simmons whirled on the young man. "What?" he asked threateningly before stalking up to him. "You think this is funny? Let me tell you something: the _President_ may sound like he doesn't have the brains God gave a cannoli but believe me; from the VP on down, the rest of them are the worst kind of _Pezzonovante _bastards. They're cynical, calculating, _dangerous_ and if you want an example to prove the point: if you think _my_ crew was rough, consider that it was put together during the happy-go-lucky days when Clinton was having his cigar polished! I can only _imagine_ what sort of ethics training _these_ shlubs got." He waved his hand around at the assorted corpses.

Then Simmons calmed down and sighed. "Look... my job is just to get this kid back to the people who formally adopted him... well, that and keep Prime and his crew from hacking the nuke codes for shits and giggles. She won't come to any harm, and I'll do anything I can to make sure she's portrayed sympathetically in the media after she gives herself up." Simmons then looked Miles square in the eye through his dark shades. "You know, you aren't much of a negotiator."

"What?" Miles was... _puzzled _by this.

"By the time I knew Witwicky this long, he was making demands left and right." Simmons snapped his fingers three or four times in quick succession. "You don't ask for much."

"I've just been thinking about things... about her and the kid." Miles felt slightly uncomfortable saying their names in front of Simmons, or of revealing his deeper thoughts. "All I really want is to see her one last time... and to meet my son."

Simmons appeared thoughtful for a moment, before putting his arm around Mile's shoulders and leading him off to Prime's trailer. "I think we might be able to arrange that for you."

_**Meanwhile, the Battle Zone**_

Ratchet carefully examined the debris. Any of these fragments might hold clues... clues to any number of things: the destination of the fugitives, the actions of the human government or... of something else entirely. Besides all the human wreckage, he'd found several mangled pieces of Cybetronian armour damaged by high heat, indicators that Barricade had taken several sabot rounds to his frame, most likely on one of his limbs. The twisted harpoon, it's anchoring spikes bent or absent, had probably hit one of the thicker armour plates if the damage to the head was any indication. So, considering all this damage and the reports of Barricade on his knees... how had he gotten away?

It was then that a glimmer of silver caught Ratchets attention from amongst the rubble. Kneeling down, the harpoon gripped in his right hand, he reached with his left hand to pick up what appeared to be a silvery disc four centimetres across. A sensor-inductor... maybe he shouldn't have been so free with the Humans about the intricacies of stasis-lock.

But that _still_ didn't explain...

Holding the disc, he could have sworn he felt it.. _move_ in his hand, but his attention was soon drawn elsewhere.

Back at the trailer that Optimus had been towing, Optimus gazed forlornly at the scene that was unfolding. Joined by his friends, Bumblebee and with the more senior Autobots converging, Miles stared dumbly at what he was seeing. More Feds had arrived, and now they were leading some sort of... _creature_ out of the trailer.

It looked like it could have been related to the Cybertronians... in the same way a chimp was related to humans. Even hunched over in a predator's crouch, it was still taller than a man, possessing four gangling arms tipped with knife-like claws. It stalked down the trailers ramp on digigrade legs supported by broad feet and long tarsal claws, its head raised and sniffing the air like a hound.

Its head... in all the time any of the young humans had been alive, they have never seen anything quite so horrible as this beasts face. Sam reflected that even at his most terrifying and obsessive, Megatron had at least looked semi-human (besides the teeth). But with four beady red eyes, a maw full of sharp teeth, a toothed set of lower mandibles and an ever-so-slight muzzle, this thing look like some sort of slavering reptile-bug beast from the dawn of time.

What was even more unsettling was that it had fragmented Mountain Dew decals all over its body plates.

"What the hell _is_ that thing?" Asked Mikaela in a mixture of awe, fascination and disgust.

"We found it during the clean-up operations in Mission City. The thing took three days to round up and subdue but we did it!" What Simmons didn't mention was that this creature was also the reason his employment hadn't been terminated: his ass had been on the line and this capture had gotten him back in SecDef's good graces by showing he could get 'results'. "As to _what_ it is: We think it was a vending machine that got a blast of Cube radiation. But what we _know_ is that it has a nose on it like you wouldn't believe!" Simmons was almost... _proud_ of this strange creature.

Miles just kept getting the same sinking feelings he had whenever he connected thoughts of the Feds to thoughts of Edith and Alvin in his mind. And Simmons words: he knew it might be scientific, but the phrase "Cube Radiation" just sounded so... _base_. It was as if no cruder blasphemy could be inflicted than to reduce a mysterious, life-giving energy to a simple matter of vibrating particles. He did not even fully understand why he felt this way: he was not really religious in any true sense of the word. What little church service his parents and relatives had pushed upon him in his life had been from a few strains of low-key Protestant Christianity, a few weddings and funerals that had served more as social ceremony than as chances for spiritual instruction.

Perhaps it was because now he knew the Autobots almost as well as Sam did, knew that the central core of their beings were plumes of energy unfathomable to modern science, did he now associate that particular energy with a metaphysical soul.

Suddenly, something caught Miles eye. One of the feds was walking toward the leashed automaton, holding a long pole in his hands. Dangling from the end of that pole... was a shoe.

A left show.

One that looked about right for Edith's foot.

"And this, my young friends, is how we're going to find our subjects." Simmons backed away as the pole-man held the shoe, a scuffed white sneaker with crumpled laces, close to the face of their "hound".

As it sniffed the shoe, Miles could only feel the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach grow deeper.

Unknown to the enthralled Humans, Frenzy was also watching this. It confused him was to why such a ferocious-looking being could be so easily led by a few Humans with a thin piece of cord. If anyone had tried that kind of slag with Scorponok, the Dune Stalker would have happily ripped them apart: the only way Soundwave had kept him obedient was with constant feeding, firm commands and a modicum of kindness.

Speaking of which, when was he going to get rescued from his thing?

But something else soon drew Frenzys interest. A buzzing, trilling warble began registering on his internal transceivers.

A signal... a tightly encrypted signal... a tightly encrypted, _Cybertronian_ signal.

Perhaps this meant fun was in the works.

Unknown to Frenzy, this signal had reached it's target: Optimus. The source-point was identified as "Seeker 4-J-Lambda", an old designation from the Battle of Chak, assigned to... so it came to this, then.

The signal itself was on an Alpha-Level encryption: hackable by only a few individuals during the First War and absolutely indecipherable by any humans. At Chak it had been reserved for an event of the utmost severity, the re-invasion of Cybertron or worse.

But Primes had access.

"_Access Code Prime Alpha 1, request secure frequency_." Prime turned away from the unfolding drama, not to let too many others see the inevitable exchange. His introductory question was pointed and frank. "_What are your terms, Starscream_?"

"_Terms? How can there be terms when there has been no proposal made?_" There was a pause. "_But if a proposal is what you seek, I believe arrangements for a meeting can be made_... _on my terms, of course_." Starscream was up to something, but he was _always_ up to something. The question was what it was.

But due to many obligations, Prime had to be sure of the safety of the 'kidnapped' before he could proceed. "_What have you done with the Girl and the Child? If they have been damaged..."_

"_The Female and her Offspring are fine, no thanks to the Humans pursuing them. Actually, it is in my interest... as well as yours, Prime, that they remain healthy and safe." B_efore Optimus could question why, Starscream continued. "_However, if you are at all interested in gaining access to them, I would strongly suggest that you attend_."

"_Conditions?" _Prime knew what the obvious ones would be, but better to ask than to go in blind.

"_Only two: one concerning attendance and the other concerning conduct. You will bring your followers and the Mate to the site at the designated time after shedding your Government escort. Secondly, there will be a general peace enforced. I genuinely do not wish to see anyone hurt." _Starscream seemed sincere (not a hard thing for him to fake), but something was still... unclear.

"_Why are you doing this, Starscream?" _Queried Optimus.

"_Why? Because I know that you still care about your people, despite all evidence to the contrary. I have a proposal for you... one that I feel, in a quite literal way, you cannot refuse." _


	12. Where She Was Born and Raised

**Transformers: Starscream Ascendant**

**Chapter 12**

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Summary: A woman seeks to discover the reasons behind recent events, while a mother/grandmother tries to understand her own motives. And all the while, something else is listening.

Authors Note: I know that as a Transformers fic, the title characters should get the bulk of the story. However, this first story has a lot of human elements tied up in it, and they have to be addressed. But they will all be tied up at the end.

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**10:20 AM, Saturday June 21, 2008**

**Louisville, Kentucky**

A 2004 Ford Focus Sedan settled to a stop in front of a house. It wasn't too much unlike the other houses in Deer Park: it had one-and-a-half stories, a wide porch, was covered in wood siding and shingles painted red and with trim painted white.

The driver of the Ford was surprised. Martha Schlotter had expected news vehicles, reporters and various other paparazzi to be swarming the place, based on what CNN coverage she had seen. But the only vehicles she would actually think of as out of place were two black, unmarked SUV's at either end of the block. At the very least, she would be able to talk to... whomever was home, in peace.

She gave a short, contemplative look at her purse in the passenger before grasping it, hefting the strops onto her shoulder and exiting her car. Walking up the concrete path to the house, she wondered what she would say, how she could possibly convey her concerns or ask what she wanted to know.

As it turned out, her first meeting didn't necessitate much talking at all.

She reached the door and just as she was about to knock, the door cracked open and a young woman with curly brown hair and slightly swarthy skin poked her face out. Not knowing quite what to say, Martha ventured a wild guess. "Mrs... McPherson?"

In response, the girl handed her a card with large, block letters written in black marker.

NO PRESS

"Oh.. well, I'm not with the press, I'm just here to see..." Martha was just beginning again when another woman came to the door. This woman had long, dark brown hair starting to go grey and whose face was beginning to display the first signs of visible ageing: wrinkles, a slight sharpening of features and the like. The face... also reminded her of someone else. "Mrs. McPherson?" Martha ventured again.

"Yes, I am Emer McPherson. Who are you and what do you want?" The older woman sounded testy, which was understandable given the initial rush of reporters that must have converged at first. That probably also explained the young woman with the large card and small vocabulary.

"My name is Martha Schlotter. My husband and I..." She looked around to make sure that no one else was listening before continuing. "Ted and I were the ones who adopted Alvin."

Mrs. McPherson regarded her appraisingly for a moment before acting. "You better come inside." She opened the door wider and began leading Martha inside. Once they were in the hallway, the girl shut the door and sat in a chair across from an old hat stand.

"Your daughter?" Asked Mrs. Schlotter, quite confused about the girl.

"One of my daughters friends. And if you're wondering why she didn't talk, Sarah's always been a bit embarrassed about her accent... that and she doesn't want to give the the reporters any sound-bytes to latch onto." They walked down the hall and into the kitchen. "I'm sorry my husband isn't here: those microphone-toting vultures drove him to accept some half-pay overtime at work today." Having reached the kitchen at the rear of the house, Emer invited Martha to sit and asked the first important question. "So.. what _do_ you want anyway?"

Martha, for her part, had been thinking long and hard about what she was going to say. She didn't want to hide the reason for her visit, but she did not want to assume to much. "Mrs. McPherson... I don't want to pry, but I just wanted to ask about your daughter: what she's like, about... well, about the _circumstances_."

"Why?" Reporters had been rumoured to employ some extremely dirty tactics to get a scoop, and Emer could not help but be cautious around anyone she did not know personally.

"Mrs. McPherson, you deserve to know something right now: when Ted and I entered into this adoption, we had been promised that any child brought to our attention had to be one that _really_ needed a good home. Our parameters were if the mother were extremely young or if there was some form of substance issue or if there were no parents at all." She stopped for a minute to consider if that had seemed a bit... she didn't know what to call it, but it wasn't good. She contimued on. "I have reason to believe that the Agency may have lied to us, and possibly to you and your daughter as well."

Emer McPherson scrunched her features and brought a clenched fist to her mouth. Several beats passed before she seemed to relax a bit. Lowering her hand, Emer felt compelled ask a question that had been haunting her for days. "What... what did Edith say to you when she took Alvin?"

"She stated who she was, she said she was eighteen and she said she wanted her son back. She..." Martha had to approach this conversation carefully, lest she reveal too much. "She knew things about us that we thought were confined to our closest friends. About our son... about..." Well, that was the biggest point... but the contents of her purse possibly connected to everything afterwards.

An awkward silence lapsed over them before Mrs. McPherson just gave up all pretence, bowed her head, covered her face with her hands and muttered "I should have let her find him."

"Pardon?" Martha hadn't quite heard all of it, but she was fairly certain that she had identified the words "her" and "him", the latter potentially indicating the source of the Y chromosome.

Emer lifted her face out of her hands and looked at Martha with a look of sad defeat. "I said I should have let Edith try and find him." Now came a more complete explanation in a more formal tone. "Near the end of her sophomore year, our daughter practically begged us to let her take part in her schools interstate exchange program. The destination that year was Southern California, specifically a little town close to Los Angeles, and Edith made all sorts of reasons why it would be a good idea for her to go. She talked about exploring the desert and its wildlife, she said it would be an opportunity to brush up on her Spanish, she even made an argument about connecting culturally with a more socially liberal population near the coast." Emer began to smile weakly at this point. "But underneath all that, I still think she mostly wanted what any other girl her age would: fun, adventure, a winter with no snow, afternoon trips to LA or to the beach and little or no parental supervision."

Then she began getting serious again. "So she went, stayed with a family affiliated with both the program and a local Presbyterian church and, about a month in, we get a letter from her. It's all great, she says: great weather, nice people, interesting food, learning lots about California culture... and then she says that she met a boy. Says he's a nice, middle-class guy with a great sense of humour and a dorky friend. That's the last I hear about it until the day before the Mission City attack."

Emer closed her eyes in remembered exasperation. "The family she was boarding with caught her trying to sneak back into the house before sunrise. She said that she'd just been studying for the exam with a friend and hadn't checked the time... but the family told us that she had been wearing a jacket they didn't recall her buying." Her eyes opened again. "That incident was mostly eclipsed by what happened in Mission city: the first thing we did was make sure Edith was alright. She said she was fine, told us that Miles... that's the boy... was also fine too, but was worried about that dorky friend of his. Two weeks after that, she came back."

"And that's when..." Martha could guess the event, but this tale had to continue.

"That's when Edith's "time of the month" never came. It was two weeks late before Edith began worrying and actually bought a home-pregnancy test... and even then, she double-checked by going to her pediatrician." Emer sighed and began looking around the room absently. "Do you know how difficult it is to raise an infant, Mrs. Schlotter?"

Thinking back on everything in the last four months, the struggles, the hardships, the shocks... and the cold, hard realities, Martha had her answer almost by base instinct. "I do, Mrs. McPherson."

Emer focused her sight back on her partner in conversation. "Then you can only imagine how much more difficult it would be for a woman below the age of majority, still struggling with finishing her last year of high school and with the social isolation that could result, not to mention of where the money to raise this child would come from." She stood up and wandered toward the back door before turning back. "We couldn't reach the boy, this "Miles". But even if we could... even if I had allowed Edith to continue trying, I didn't want to burden her. Both me and my husband have seen our shares of teenage pregnancy in our time: even _with_ the boy doing what he can for his new family, they'd need lots of help, especially from their families."

Martha did not fully understand the problem. "Then why didn't you just help Edith with the baby?"

"That's the part I can't figure out! I _should_ have just let Edith find him and then judged for myself when he came here to sit in judgement before our extended family." Seemingly upset with herself now, Emer came back to her chair and sit down. "But the reason I gave myself was that i didn't know if he had any family. Without them, we had only two options. There were my husbands kin: a widowed mother in Salyersville, his sister and her family in Cincinnati and distant relatives in the mountains who considered my in-laws a blight in the eyes of God. On the other hand there was my family... and let's just say I wasn't going to let them get their claws into my daughter and leave it at that."

"You don't... _get on_ with your family?" Martha asked, a little astonished at the subtle venom that had seeped into the last sentence.

"The only one who I get along with is my niece Miranda. She and my aunt are the only sane people the Parrs seem to have produced... besides me, of course. I just didn't want them trying to shape Edith into something she obviously did not want to be. They'd help... but it would have been on _their terms_."

Martha had her eyes closed in reflection by now. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. McPherson. I have to be going now." She got up and began waking back to the door before Emer could get up and follow. Sarah opened the door for her and she went out to her car, all the while trying to disguise the unusual movements of her purse..

Emer McPherson stood back inside the doorway, Sarah beside her. As ere eyes followed the car driving away, she wished... wished with everything she had... that she had made a different decision.

But she hadn't. Almost every morning during Edith's pregnancy, she had woken up with the conviction that this was the way it had to happen.

Not 'how it had to be', mind you, but 'how it had to _happen_'.


	13. Next Box

Transformers: Starscream Ascendant

Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not franchises or electronics or anything. This work is purely for entertainment purposes. I ain't making any money off this but I wish they'd done a bit better on the sequel.

Summary: Glen Whitman's fast food dilemma is about to be solved... only to be replaced by the shock of the year.

* * *

**5:13 PM local time, June 21, 2008**

**DC Metro Area**

Maggie Madsen wondered just how she'd drawn _this_ job. It wasn't enough that working at RAND Corporation was barely paying her expenses for a Metro DC apartment and lifestyle... now they said that since the Autobots were such a secret, she had to have a cover-story for everyone who knew her, complete with job.

But... _food services_?

Alright, so it wasn't flipping burgers, but working at Pizza Hut wasn't exactly Tavern on the Green. For every well-behaved party, every thankful child and every senior citizen that insisted on tipping well, there were equal numbers of "tipsy" jerk-asses, screaming brats that made everyones experience miserable and the worst manner of skinflints, hypocrites and lazy bastards. That was without the almost inevitable screw-ups (if not outright disasters) in the kitchen and the menagerie of other employees.

She was barely a people-person on the best of days, and seeing as her 'brain-mouth' thing was making her unpopular with the other staff... maybe flipping burgers wouldn't have been such a bad alternative.

And then then her day got a _lot_ weirder.

"Glen? What the he... I mean, would you like a table, sir?" Looking at the out-of-breath and overweight hacker before her, she was torn between asking what had him in such a state and being the polite table attendant.

"Maggie!" Glen gasped out, holding on to the podium for support. "Someone's been ordering pizzas from my computer, _four dozen at a time._" He saw her looking at him oddly. "And it wasn't me!"

Maggie shook her head in annoyance. "Glen, if this is another bout of revenge from your cousin for getting the FBI on him, just tell him to knock it off. I don't have time..."

"You don't understand! It's not him and it isn't Grandma! They don't even know my passwords!" Glen was getting frustrated. "Look... I need your help here."

"Well, I have work to do, so if you'll excuse me..." It was then that the manager called her into the back for "another jumbo". After she left, Glen lingered on for a few minutes in frustration.

And then, she came back.

"Glen, another order for 50 pizzas just came from your computer. What's going on?" Maggie asked testily.

"I don't know!" Glen declared in frustration, but then an idea hit him. "But we can find out! If we leave now, maybe we can catch them!"

Maggie had no idea why she did it. Maybe it was just to get out of this place for a little while, maybe it was because she could hear the genuine panic in Glen's voice, which didn't match his usual sugar-induced insanity. But she did it.

She agreed to go.

"Alright... just give me a minute to get out of here." Maggie looked around for some poor bastard to take over for her and immediately found her mark. As she walked over to Marcos, she almost felt sorry for him: he was actually a bit of a sweet guy... but his unfortunate clumsiness made him a pain in the kitchen. "Hey, Marcos... could I ask a favour?"

Alright, she had a replacement... but now she owed the guy a date.

**5:30 PM local time. June 21, 2008 **

"**Glen's Place", Somewhere near Washington DC**

"Alright, let's go over the plan again. I open the door, you take the picture so we have proof. Got it?" In response to what seemed like an unusually juvenile plan from Glen, Maggie huffed in frustration, but still kept her hands on the digital camera. Then Glen began counting down. "3... 2... 1... GET 'EM!"

The door to Glen's room was flung open, and both hackers charged in, Maggie taking the picture.

Then she actually got a look at the image on the camera's screen.

It wasn't Glen's Cousin what was in his chair.

It wasn't Grandma either.

It was his Xbox.

His _walking, humanoid_, Xbox.

Maggie screamed, Glen screamed, the X-bot let out a frightened screech that was _probably _a scream. The 'bot suddenly leaped from Glen's chair, managed to dive between the humans' legs and scampered for it. It was almost at the front door when Glen's Cousin came in the same way. Both he and the apparition screamed. The robot spun around and raced down the hall for the back door.

However, Glen's grandmother was coming from that direction, drawn by the noise. She screamed too, driving the robot back into the front hall... where he was cornered by all three parties.

There, it did the strangest thing that anyone in the room had ever seen a game system do: it fell to it's knees and began begging for it's life... in almost perfect English, out of an improvised, tinny-sounding speaker.

"Glen?" Maggie asked, starring at the begging robot in shock.

"Yeah?" Glen answered back dumbly as he watched his cousin and grandma for any signs of acting... panicky.

"Where did you buy this thing again?" Maggie was beginning to suspect that the clean-up operation in Mission City had been as thorough as everyone wanted to believe.


End file.
